value.   No  one
knows what the purpose  of it  originally was  or if  it had
a purpose at all. Personally I think it was a  pure artistic
creation from the beginning.
 "Just  as  a  bull  fighter  with  his skill  and knowledge
extricates  himself  from  danger  he  has  himself invoked,
so  in  this  operation  the surgeon  deliberately endangers
his  patient,  and  then, with  incredible speed  and celer-
ity,  rescues  him  from  death at  the last  possible split
second....  Did  any  of  you ever  see Dr.  Tetrazzini per-
form?  I  say  perform  advisedly  because   his  operations
were  performances.  He  would  start  by  throwing  a scal-
pel  across  the  room into  the patient  and then  make his
entrance  like a  ballet dancer.  His speed  was incredible:
'I  don't  give  them  time  to die,'  he would  say. Tumors
put  him  in  a  frenzy  of  rage.   'Fucking  undisciplined
cells!'  he  would  snarl,  advancing  on  the tumor  like a
knife-fighter."
 A  young  man  leaps  down   into  the   operating  theatre
and, whipping out a scalpel, advances on the patient.
 DR.   BENWAY:   "An   espontaneo   Stop   him   before  he
guts my patient!"
 (Espontaneo  is  a  bull-fighting  term  for  a  member  of
the  audience  who  leaps  down  into  the  ring,  pulls out
a  concealed  cape  and  attempts  a  few  passes  with  the
bull before he is dragged out of the ring. )
 The   orderlies   scuffle  with   the  espontaneo,   who  is
finally  ejected from  the hall.  The anesthetist  takes ad-
vantage  of  the  confusion  to  pry  a  large  gold filling
from the patient's mouth....
  I  am passing  room 10  they moved  me out  of yester-
day....  Maternity  case  I  assume...  Bedpans  full of
blood and Kotex and  nameless female  substances, enough
to pollute a continent... If someone  comes to  visit me
in my old room he will think I gave  birth to  a monster
and the State Department is trying to hush it up....
  Music  from  I  Am  an  American...  An   elderly  man
in the striped pants  and cutaway  of a  diplomat stands
on  a  platform  draped  with the  American flag.  A de-
cayed, corseted tenor -- bursting out  of a  Daniel Boone
costume -- is singing the Star  S pangled  Banner, accom-
panied  by  a  full  orchestra. He  sings with  a slight
lisp....
  THE DIPLOMAT (reading  from a  great scroll  of ticker
tape that keeps growing and  tangling around  his feet):
"And  we  categorically  deny that  any male  citizen of
the United States of America..."
  TENOR:  "Oh  thay  can you  thee..." His  voice breaks
and shoots up to a high falsetto.
  In  the  control  room the  Technician mixes  a bicar-
bonate of soda and  belches into  his hand:  "God damned
tenor's  a  brown  artist1"  he  mutters  sourly. "Mikel
rumph,"  the  shout  ends  in a  belch. "Cut  that swish
fart  off the  air and  give him  his purple  slip. He's
through  as  of  right now....  Put in  that sex-changed
Liz  athlete....  She's  a  fulltime tenor  at least....
Costume?  How  in  the  fuck  should  I  know?   I'm  no
dress  designer  swish  from  the   costume  department!
What's  that?  The  entire  costume  department occluded
as a security risk? What am I, an octopus?  Let's see...
How  about  an  Indian   routine?  Pocahontas   or  Hia-
watha?...  No,  that's  not  right. Some  citizen cracks
wise about giving it back to the Indians.... A Civil War
uniform,  the  coat North  and the  pants South  like it
show  they  got  together  again? She  can come  on like
Buffalo  Bill or  Paul Revere  or that  citizen wouldn't
give up the shit, I mean the ship, or a G.I. or a Dough-
boy  or the  Unknown Soldier....  That's the  best deal.
...Cover  her  with  a  monument,  that  way  nobody has
to look at her...."
  The  Lesbian,  concealed  in  a  paper  mache  Arc de
Triomphe fills her great lungs  and looses  a tremendous
bellow.
  "Oh say do that Star Spangled Banner yet wave..."
  A  great  rent  rips  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  from top
to  bottom.  The  Diplomat  puts  a  hand  to  his fore-
head....
  The Diplomat:   "That  any   male  citizen   of  the
United States  has given  birth in  Interzone or  at any
other place...."
  "O'er the land of the FREEEEEEEEEEE..."
  The  Diplomat's  mouth  is  moving  but  no  one  can
hear  him.  The  Technician  clasps  his hands  over his
ears:  "Mother  of  God!" he  screams. His  plate begins
to vibrate like a Jew's harp, suddenly  flies out  of his
mouth.... He snaps  at it  irritably, misses  and covers
his mouth with one hand.
  The Arc de  Triomphe falls  with a  ripping, splinter-
ing crash, reveals  the Lesbian  standing on  a pedestal
clad  only  in  a  leopard-skin jockstrap  with enormous
falsie basket.... She stands there smiling  stupidly and
flexing  her  huge  muscles....  The Technician  is craw-
pleasure  to  the  head.... Ten  minutes later  you want
another  shot....  The  pleasure of  morphine is  in the
viscera.... You listen down into yourself after  a shot.
...But intravenous C is  electricity through  the brain,
activating cocaine pleasure connections.... There  is no
withdrawal syndrome with C. It  is a  need of  the brain
alone -- a need without body and without  feeling. Earth-
bound ghost need.  The craving  for C  lasts only  a few
hours as  long as  the C  channels are  stimulated. Then
you forget  it. Eukodol  is like  a combination  of junk
and C.  Trust the  Germans to  concoct some  really evil
shit. Eukodol like morphine is  six times  stronger than
codeine. Heroin  six times  stronger than  morphine. Di-
hydro-oxy-heroin  should  be  six  times  stronger  than
heroin. Quite possible to develop a drug  so habit-form-
ing that one shot would cause lifelong addiction.

  Habit  Note  continued:  Picking  up  needle  I  reach
spontaneously for the  tie-up cord  with my  left hand.'
This I take as a  sign I  can hit  the one  useable vein
in  my left  arm, (The  movements of  tying up  are such
that  you  normally  tie  up  the  arm  with  which  you
reach for the cord. ) The needle slides in easily on the
edge of a callous. I feel around. Suddenly a thin column
of blood shoots up into the syringe, for a  moment sharp
and solid as a red cord.
  The  body  knows what  veins you  can hit  and conveys
this   knowledge  in   the  spontaneous   movements  you
make  preparing  to  take   a  shot....   Sometimes  the
needle  points  like  a dowser's  wand. Sometime  I must
wait for the  message, But  when it  comes I  always hit
blood.
  A  red  orchid bloomed  at the  bottom of  the dropper.
He hesitated for a  full second,  then pressed  the bulb,
watching the liquid rush into  the vein  as if  sucked by
the silent thirst of his blood. There was  an iridescent,
thin coat of  blood left  in the  dropper, and  the white
paper  collar  was  soaked  through  with  blood  like  a
bandage.  He  reached  over and  filled the  dropper with
water. As he  squirted the  water out,  the shot  hit him
in the stomach, a soft sweet blow.
  Look  down   at  my   filthy  trousers,   haven't  been
changed  in  months....  The  days  glide  by  strung  on
a syringe with a long  thread of  blood.... I  am forget-
ting sex and all sharp pleasures  of the  body --  a grey,
junk-bound  ghost.  The  Spanish  boys  call  me  El Hom-
bre Invisible -- the Invisible Man....

  Twenty  push  ups  every  morning.  Use  of   junk  re-
moves fat, leaves muscle more or less intact.  The addict
seems  to  need  less tissue....Would  it be  possible to
isolate the fat-removing molecule of junk?

  More  and  more  static at  the Drug  Store, mutterings
of  control  like a  telephone off  the hook...  Spent all
day until 8 P.M. to score for two boxes of Eukodol....
  Running out of veins and out of money.

  Keep  going  on  the  nod.  Last night  I woke  up with
someone  squeezing  my  hand.  It  was my  other hand....
Fall asleep reading and the words  take on  code signifi-
cance....  Obsessed  with   codes....  Man   contracts  a
series of diseases which spell out a code message....
  Take a  shot in  front of  D.L. Probing  for a  vein in
my  dirty   bare  foot....   Junkies  have   no  shame....
They  are  impervious  to  the  repugnance  of  others. It
is doubtful if shame can  exist in  the absence  of sexual
libido....  The  junky's  shame  disappears with  his non-
sexual sociability which is  also dependent  on libido....
The  addict regards  his body  impersonally as  an instru-
ment to  absorb the  medium in  which he  lives, evaluates
his tissue with the cold hands of a horse trader.  "No use
trying to hit there." Dead fish eyes  Hick over  a ravaged
vein.
  Using  a  new  type  sleeping  pill  called  Soneryl....
You  don't  feel  sleepy....  You  shift to  sleep without
transition, fall abruptly into the  middle of  a dream....
I  have been  years in  a prison  camp suffering  from mal-
nutrition....
  The  President  is  a  junky  but  can't take  it direct
because  of  his  position.  So  he  gets   fixed  through
me....  From  time  to  time  we   make  contact,   and  I
recharge  him.  These  contacts  look,  to the  casual ob-
server,  like  homosexual  practices,  but the  actual ex-
citement is not primarily  sexual, and  the climax  is the
separation  when  the  recharge  is  completed.  The erect
penises are brought into contact -- at  least we  used that
method  in  the  beginning,  but  contact points  wear out
like  veins.  Now  I  sometimes  have  to  slip  my  penis
under  his left  eyelid. Of  course I  can always  fix him
with  an   Osmosis  Recharge,   which  corresponds   to  a
skin shot, but that is admitting defeat. An O.R.  will put
the  President in  a bad  mood for  weeks, and  might well
precipitate  an  atomic shambles.  And the  President pays
a  high  price for  the Oblique  Habit. He  has sacrificed
all  control,  and is  dependent as  an unborn  child. The
Oblique  Addict  suffers  a  whole spectrum  of subjective
horror, silent protoplasmic frenzy, hideous agony  of the
bones.  Tensions  build  up,  pure  energy  without  emo-
tional content  finally tears  through the  body throwing
him  about  like  a  man  in  contact  with  high tension
wires.  If  his charge  connection is  cut off  cold, the
Oblique Addict falls into  such violent  electric convul-
sions that his bones shake  loose, and  he dies  with the
skeleton straining to climb out of his  unendurable flesh
and run in a straight line to the nearest cemetery.
  The  relation  between  an  O.A.  (Oblique  Addict) and
his R.C. (Recharge  Connection) is  so intense  that they
can  only  endure  each  other's  company  for  brief and
infrequent intervals -- I mean aside from  recharge meets,
when  all personal  contact is  eclipsed by  the recharge
process.

  Reading  the  paper.... Something  about a  triple mur-
der  in  the  rue de  la Merde,  Paris: "An  adjusting of
scores."...I  keep  slipping  away....  "The  police have
identified  the  author... Pepe  El Culito...  The Little
Ass  Hole,  an  affectionate  diminutive." Does  it really
say that?... I try  to focus  the words...  they separate
in meaningless mosaic....

        LAZARUS GO HOME

  Fumbling through faded tape at the pick up frontier,
a languid grey area of hiatus miasmic with yawns and
gaping goof  holes, Lee  found out  that the  young junky
standing  there  in  his  room  at  10  A.M. Was  back from
two months skin diving in Corsica and off the junk....
  "Here  to  show off  his  new  body,"  Lee  decided  with
a  shudder  of  morning  junk  sickness.  He  knew  that he
was  seeing  --  ah  yes  Miguel  thank  you --  three months
back  sitting  in  the  Metropole nodded  out over  a stale
yellow  eclair  that would  poison a  cat two  hours later,
decided  that  the  effort  involved  in  seeing  Miguel  at
all  10  A.M.  was  enough  without  the  intolerable chore
of correcting an error -- ("what is  this a  fucking farm?")
which  would  also  entail  current  picture  of  Miguel in
much  used  areas  like  some  great,   inconvenient  beast
of an object on top in the suitcase.
  "You  look   marvelous,"  Lee   said,  wiping   away  the
more  obvious  signs  of  distaste  with  a  sloppy, casual
napkin,  seeing  the grey  ooze of  junk in  Miguel's face,
studying  patterns  of  shabbiness  as  if man  and clothes
had  moved  for  years  through  back  alleys of  time with
never a space station to tidy up....
  "Besides  by  the  time  I  could  correct   the  error...
Lazarus   go  home....   Pay  The   Man  and   go  home....
What I want to see your old borrowed meat for?'
  "Well  it's  great  to  see   you  off....Do   yourself  a
favor."  Miguel  was  swimming   around  the   room  spear-
ing fish with his hand....
  "When   you're   down   there   you  never   think  about
horse."
  "You're better off like this," said Lee, dreamily caress-
ing a needle  scar on  the back  of Miguel's  hand, follow-
ing  the  whorls  and  patterns  of  smooth purple  flesh in
a slow twisting movement....
  Miguel  scratched  the  back  of  his hand....  He looked
out  the  window....   His  body   moved  in   little,  gal-
vanized  jerks  as junk  channels lit  up.... Lee  sat there
waiting. "One snort never put anybody back on, kid."
  "I know what I'm doing."
  "They always know."
  Miguel took the nail file.
  Lee closed his eyes: "It's too tiresome."
  "Uh  thanks  that  was  great."  Miguel's  pants  fell  to
his  ankles.  He  stood  there  in  a misshapen  overcoat of
Hesh  that  turned  from  brown  to  green  and  then color-
less  in  the  morning  light,  fell off  in globs  onto the
floor.
  Lee's  eyes  moved  in  the  substance  of  his  face... a
little, cold, grey Hick.... "Clean it up," he  said. "Enough
dirt in here now."
  "Oh uh sure," Miguel fumbled with a dustpan.
  Lee put the packet of heroin away.
  Lee  lived  in  a  permanent  third-day  kick,   with,  of
course,  certain  uh essential  intermissions to  refuel the
fires   that  burned   through  his   yellow-pink-brown  ge-
latinous  substance  and  kept  off  the  hovering  flesh. In
the  beginning  his  flesh  was  simply  soft,  so  soft that
he  was  cut  to the  bone by  dust particles,  air currents
and  brushing  overcoats  while  direct  contact  with doors
and  chairs  seemed  to  occasion  no  discomfort.  No wound
healed  in  his  soft, tentative  flesh.... Long  white ten-
drils  of  fungus  curled  round   the  naked   bones.  Mold
odors of  atrophied testicles  quilted his  body in  a fuzzy
grey fog....
  During  his  first severe  infection the  boiling thermom-
eter  Hashed  a  quicksilver bullet  into the  nurse's brain
and  she  fell  dead  with  a  mangled  scream.  The  doctor
took one look and slammed  steel shutters  of survival.
He  ordered the  burning bed  and its  occupant immedi-
ately evicted from the hospital premises.
  "Guess he can make his  own penicillin!"  snarled the
doctor.
  But the infection  burned the  mold out...  Lee lived
now  in  varying degrees  of transparency...  While not
exactly invisible he was at least difficult to  see. His
presence attracted no special notice.... People covered
him with  a project  or dismissed  him as  a reflection,
shadow:  "Some  kinda  light  trick or  neon advertise-
ment."
  Now Lee felt the first seismic  tremors of  Old Faith-
ful the Cold Burn. He pushed  Miguel's spirit  into the
hall with a kind, firm tendril.
  "Jesus!" said Miguel. "I gotta go!" He rushed out.
  Pink  fires  of histamine  spurted from  Lee's glowing
core  and  covered  his  raw  periphery. (The  room was
fireproof, the walls of iron blistered and  spotted with
moon craters.) He took  a large  fix and  falsified his
schedule.
  He  decided  to visit  a colleague,  NG Joe,  who got
hooked during a Bang-utot attack in Honolulu.
  (Note:  Rang-utot, literally,  "attempting to  get up
and  groaning..." Death  occurring in  the course  of a
nightmare...  The  condition  occurs  in males  of S.E.
Asiatic extraction.... In Manila about twelve  cases of
death by Bang-utot are recorded each year.
  One  man  who  recovered  said  that  "a  little man"
was sitting on his chest and strangling him.
  Victims often know that  they are  going to  die, ex-
press the fear that their penis will enter the body and
kill them. Sometimes they cling  to the  penis in  a state
of shrieking hysteria calling on others for help  lest the
penis  escape  and  pierce  the  body. Erections,  such as
normally occur  in sleep,  are considered  especially dan-
gerous  and  liable to  bring a  fatal attack....  One man
devised  a  Rube  Goldberg  contraption  to  prevent erec-
tion during sleep. But he died of Bang-utot.
  Careful  autopsies  of  Bang-utot victims  have revealed
no  organic  reason for  death. There  are often  signs of
strangulation   (caused   by   what?);   sometimes  slight
hemorrhages  of  pancreas  and  lungs  -- not  sufficient to
cause  death  and  also  of  unknown  origin.  It  has oc-
curred to the author  that the  cause of  death is  a mis-
placement of sexual  energy resulting  in a  lung erection
with  consequent  strangulation....  [See article  by Nils
Larsen  M.D.,  The  Men  with  the  Deadly  Dream  in  the
Saturday  Evening  Post,  December   3,  1955.   Also  ar-
ticle by Erle Stanley Gardner for Time Magazine.] )
  NG  lived  in  constant  fear of  erection so  his habit
jumped  and  jumped.  (Note:  It  is  a  well  known tire-
some fact, it is a notoriously dull and long  winded fact,
that  anyone  who  gets  hooked  because  of  any disabil-
ity  whatever, will  be presented,  during the  periods of
shortage  or  deprivation [such  a thing  as too  much fun
you  know]  with  an  outrageously  padded,  geometrically
progressing, proliferating account. )
  An  electrode  attached  to  one testicle  glowed briefly
and  NG  woke  up  in  the  smell  of  burning   flesh  and
reached  for  a loaded  syringe. He  rolled into  a foetal
position and  slid the  needle into  his spine.  He pulled
the needle out  with a  little sigh  of pleasure,  and re-
alized that Lee  was in  the room.  A long  slug undulated
out of  Lee's right  eye and  wrote on  the wall  in iri-
descent  ooze: "  The Sailor  is in  the City  buying up
TIME."
  I am waiting in  front of  a drugstore  for it  to open
at  nine  o'clock.  Two  Arab boys  roll cans  of garbage
up  to  a  high heavy  wood door  in a  whitewashed wall.
Dust in front  of the  door streaked  with urine.  One of
the boys bent over, rolling the  heavy cans,  pants tight
over his lean young  ass. He  looks at  me with  the neu-
tral,  calm  glance  of  an  animal I  wake with  a shock
like  the boy  is real  and I  have missed  a meet  I had
with him for this afternoon.
  "We  expect  additional  equalizations,"  says  the In-
spector in  an interview  with Your  Reporter. "Otherwise
will occur,"  the Inspector  lifts one  leg in  a typical
Nordic  gesture,  "the bends  is it  not? But  perhaps we
can provide the suitable chamber of decompression."
  The  Inspector  opens  his  fly  and begins  looking for
crabs, applying ointment from a little clay  pot. Clearly
the interview is at an  end. "You're  not going?"  he ex-
claims. "Well, as one judge said to  the other,  'Be just
and if  you can't  be just  be arbitrary.'  Regret cannot
observe  customary  obscenities." He holds  up  his right
hand covered with a foul-smelling yellow ointment.
  One's  Reporter  rushes forward  and clasps  the soiled
hand in both of his. "It's been a pleasure, Inspector, an
unspeakable pleasure,"  he says  peeling off  his gloves,
rolling  them  into  a  ball  and  tossing them  into the
wastebasket. "Expense account," he smiles.
  HASSAN'S RUMPUS ROOM

  Gilt and red plush. Rococo bar  backed by  pink shell.
The  air  is  cloyed  with a  sweet evil  substance like
decayed  honey.  Men  and  women  in  evening  dress sip
pousse-cafes through alabaster tubes.  A Near  East Mug-
wump sits naked  on a  bar stool  covered in  pink silk.
He licks warm honey from  a crystal  goblet with  a long
black tongue. His genitals are  perfectly formed  -- cir-
cumcised  cock, black  shiny pubic  hairs. His  lips are
thin and purple-blue like the lips of a penis,  his eyes
blank  with  insect  calm.  The  Mugwump  has  no liver,
maintaining   himself   exclusive  on   sweets.  Mugwump
push  a slender  blond youth  to a  couch and  strip him
expertly.
  "Stand up and  turn around,"  he orders  in telepathic
pictographs.  He ties  the boy's  hands behind  him with
a red silk cord. "Tonight we make it all the way."
  "No, no!" screams the boy.
  "Yes. Yes."
  Cocks  ejaculate  in silent  "yes." Mugwump  part silk
curtains,  reveal  a teak  wood gallows  against lighted
screen  of  red  Hint.  Gallows  is on  a dais  of Aztec
mosaics.
  The   boy   crumples   to  his   knees  with   a  long
"OOOOOOOOH,"   shitting  and   pissing  in   terror.  He
feels the  shit warm  between his  thighs. A  great wave
of hot blood swells his lips and  throat. His  body con-
tracts into a foetal position and sperm spurts  hot into
his  face.  The  Mugwump  dips  hot perfumed  water from
alabaster  bowl,  pensively  washes  the  boy's  ass and
cock,  drying  him  with  a  soft  blue  towel. A  warm wind
plays  over  the  boys  body  and the  hairs float  free. The
Mugwump   puts   a   hand   under   the   boy's   chest  and
pulls  him  to  his  feet.  Holding  him  by  both  pinioned
elbows,  propels  him  up  the  steps  and under  the noose.
He  stands  in  front  of  the  boy  holding  the  noose  in
both hands.
   The  boy  looks  into  Mugwump  eyes  blank  as  obsidian
mirrors,  pools  of  black  blood, glory  holes in  a toilet
wall closing on the Last Erection.
   An  old  garbage  collector,  face  fine  and   yellow  as
Chinese  ivory,  blows  The  Blast   on  his   dented  brass
horn,  wakes  the  Spanish  pimp   with  a   hard-on.  Whore
staggers  out  through  dust  and  shit  and litter  of dead
kittens,  carrying  bales of  aborted foetuses,  broken con-
doms,   bloody   Kotex,   shit   wrapped  in   bright  color
comics.
   A  vast still  harbor of  iridescent water.  Deserted gas
well  flares  on  the  smoky  horizon.   Stink  of   oil  and
sewage.   Sick   sharks  swim   through  the   black  water,
belch  sulphur  from  rotting   livers,  ignore   a  bloody,
broken   Icarus.   Naked   Mr.   America,   burning  frantic
with  self  bone  love,  screams   out:  "My   asshole  con-
founds  the  Louvre!  I  fart  ambrosia  and shit  pure gold
turds!  My  cock  spurts  soft   diamonds  in   the  morning
sunlight!"   He  plummets   from  the   eyeless  lighthouse,
kissing  and  jacking  off  in  face  of  the  black  mirror,
glides  oblique  down  with   cryptic  condoms   and  mosaic
of  a  thousand  newspapers  through   a  drowned   city  of
red brick  to settle  in black  mud with  tin cans  and beer
bottles,  gangsters  in  concrete,  pistols pounded  Hat and
meaningless  to  avoid  short-arm  inspection  of  prurient
ballistic experts. He waits the slow striptease  of erosion
with fossil loins.
  The  Mugwump  slips  the  noose   over  the   boy's  head
and  tightens  the  knot caressingly  behind the  left ear.
The boy's  penis is  retracted, his  balls tight.  He looks
straight  ahead  breathing   deeply.  The   Mugwump  sidles
around  the  boy  goosing  him  and caressing  his genitals
in  hieroglyphs  of  mockery.  He   moves  in   behind  the
boy  with  a series  of bumps  and shoves  his cock  up the
boy's ass. He stands there moving in circular gyrations.
  The guests shush each other, nudge and giggle.
  Suddenly  the  Mugwump  pushes   the  boy   forward  into
space, free of  his cock.  He steadies  the boy  with hands
on  the  hip  bones,  reaches up  with his  stylized hiero-
glyph  hands  and snaps  the boy's  neck. A  shudder passes
through  the  boy's body.  His penis  rises in  three great
surges pulling his pelvis up, ejaculates immediately.
  Green  sparks  explode  behind his  eyes. A  sweet tooth-
ache  pain  shoots  through  his  neck  down  the  spine to
the  groin,  contracting  the  body  in spasms  of delight.
His   whole  body   squeezes  out   through  his   cock.  A
final  spasm  throws  a  great  spurt  of sperm  across the
red screen like a shooting star.
  The  boy  falls with  soft gutty  suction through  a maze
of penny arcades and dirty pictures.
  A  sharp  turd  shoots  clean  out  his ass.  Farts shake
his  slender  body.  Skyrockets  burst  in  green  clusters
across  a  great  river. He  hears the  faint put-put  of a
motor  boat  in  jungle  twilight....  Under  silent  wings
of the anopheles mosquito.
  The  Mugwump  pulls  the  boy   back  onto   his  cock.
The  boy  squirms,  impaled  like  a  speared  fish.  The
Mugwump  swings  on  the  boy's   back,  his   body  con-
tracting  in  fluid  waves.  Blood  flows down  the boy's
chin  from  his  mouth,  half-open,  sweet, and  sulky in
death. The Mugwump falls with a fluid, sated plop.

  Windowless   cubicle  with   blue  walls.   Dirty  pink
curtain  cover  the  door.  Red bugs  crawl on  the wall,
cluster in corners. Naked boy in the  middle of  the room
twang  a  two-string  ouad,  trace  an  arabesque  on the
floor.  Another  boy  lean  back on  the bed  smoking keif
and  blow  smoke  over  his  erect  cock. They  play game
with  tarot  cards  on  the  bed  to  see  who  fuck who.
Cheat. Fight. Roll on the floor snarling and spitting like
young animals. The loser sit on the  floor chin  on knees,
licks  a broken  tooth. The  winner curls  up on  the bed
pretending  to  sleep.  Whenever   the  other   boy  come
near  kick  at  him.  Ali  seize him  by one  ankle, tuck
the  ankle under  his arm  pit, lock  his arm  around the
calf.  The  boy  kick  desperately  at Ali's  face. Other
ankle pinioned. Ali tilt the boy  back on  his shoulders.
The  boy's  cock  extends  along  his stomach,  float free
pulsing. Ali put  his hands  over his  head. Spit  on his
cock. The other sighs deeply as Ali  slides his  cock in.
The   mouths   grind   together  smearing   blood.  Sharp
musty  odor  of  penetrated rectum.  Nimun drive  in like
a  wedge,  force  jism  out  the other  cock in  long hot
spurts.  (The  author  has   observed  that   Arab  cocks
tend to be wide and wedge shaped.)
  Satyr  and  naked  Greek  lad  in  aqualungs   trace  a
ballet  of  pursuit  in  a   monster  vase   of  transparent
alabaster.  The  Satyr  catches  the   boy  from   in  front
and  whirls  him  around.  They  move  in  fish  jerks.  The
boy  releases  a silver  stream of  bubbles from  his mouth.
White  sperm  ejaculates  into  the  green  water  and floats
lazily around the twisting bodies.
  Negro  gently  lifts  exquisite  Chinese  boy into  a ham-
mock.  He  pushes  the  boy's  legs  up  over  his  head and
straddles  the  hammock.  He  slides his  cock up  the boy's
slender  tight  ass.  He  rocks  the  hammock   gently  back
and  forth.  The  boy  screams,  a  weird  high wail  of un-
endurable delight.
  A  Javanese  dancer  in  ornate  teak  swivel  chair,  set
in  a  socket  of  limestone  buttocks,  pulls  an  American
boy  --  red hair,  bright green  eyes --  down onto  his cock
with  ritual  motions.  The  boy  sits  impaled  facing  the
dancer  who  propels  himself  in circular  gyrations, lend-
ing  fluid  substance  to  the  chair.  "Weeeeeeeeee!" scream
the  boy  as  his  sperm  spurt  up  over the  dancer's lean
brown  chest.  One  gob  hit  the  corner  of  the  dancer's
mouth.  The  boy  push  it  in  with  his finger  and laugh:
"Man, that's what I call suction!"
  Two   Arab   women   with   bestial   faces   have  pulled
the shorts off  a little  blond French  boy. They  are screw-
ing  him  with  red  rubber  cocks.  The boy  snarls, bites,
kicks, collapses in tears as his cock rises and ejaculates.
  Hassan's  face  swells,  tumescent  with  blood.  His lips
turn  purple.  He  strip  off  his  suit  of  banknotes  and
throw it into an open vault that closes soundless.
  "Freedom  Hall  here,  folks!"  he  screams in  his phoney
Texas  accent.  Ten-gallon  hat   and  cowboy   boots  still
on,  he  dances  the  Liquefactionist  Jig,  ending  with  a
grotesque  can-can  to  the  tune of  She Started  a Heat
Wave.
  "Let it be! And no holes barred!("
  Couples attached to  baroque harnesses  with artificial
wings copulate in the air, screaming like magpies.
  Aerialists ejaculate each other in space with  one sure
touch.
  Equilibrists suck  each other  off deftly,  balanced on
perilous poles and chairs  tilted over  the void.  A warm
wind brings  the smell  of rivers  and jungle  from misty
depths.
  Boys  by   the  hundred   plummet  through   the  roof,
quivering  and  kicking  at  the end  of ropes.  The boys
hang at different levels, some near the ceiling  and oth-
ers  a  few inches  off the  floor. Exquisite  Balinese and
Malays,  Mexican  Indians   with  fierce   innocent  faces
and bright red gums. Negroes  ( teeth, fingers,  toe nails
and  pubic  hair  gilded),   Japanese  boys   smooth  and
white  as China,  Titian-haired Venetian  lads, Americans
with  blond or  black curls  falling across  the forehead
(the  guests tenderly  shove it  back), sulky  blond Pol-
lacks  with animal  brown eyes,  Arab and  Spanish street
boys,  Austrian  boys  pink  and  delicate  with  a faint
shadow  of  blond  pubic  hair,  sneering  German  youths
with bright blue eyes scream "Heil Hitler!" as  the trap
falls under them. Sollubis shit and whimper.
  Mr.   Rich-and-Vulgar   chews   his  Havana   lewd  and
nasty,  sprawled  on  a   Florida  beach   surrounded  by
simpering blond catamites:
  "This  citizen  have  a  Latah  he  import  from  Indo-
China.  He  figure  to  hang  the  Latah  and send  a Xmas
TV short to  his friends.  So he  fix up  two ropes  -- one
gimmicked  to  stretch,  the other  the real  McCoy. But
that Latah get up  in feud  state and  put on  his Santa
Claus  suit  and  make  with  the  switcheroo.  Come the
dawning.  The  citizen put  one rope  on and  the Latah,
going  along  the  way  Latahs will,  put on  the other.
When  the  traps  are  down  the  citizen hang  for real
and  the  Latah  stand  with  the  carny-rubber  stretch
rope. Well, the  Latah imitate  every twitch  and spasm.
Come three times.
  "Smart young Latah  keep his  eye on  the ball.  I got
him working in one of my plants as an expeditor."
  Aztec priests strip blue feather  robe from  the Naked
Youth. They  bend him  back over  a limestone  altar, fit
a crystal skull over  his head,  securing the  two hemi-
spheres  back and  front with  crystal screws.  A water-
fall pour  over the  skull snapping  the boy's  neck. He
ejaculate in a rainbow against the rising sun.
  Sharp protein odor of semen fills the air.  The guests
run hands over  twitching boys,  suck their  cocks, hang
on their backs like vampires.
  Naked lifeguards carry in iron-lungs full of paralyzed
youths.
  Blind  boys  grope  out  of  huge  pies,  deteriorated
schizophrenics  pop  from  a  rubber  cunt,   boys  with
horrible skin diseases rise from a black  pond (sluggish
fish nibble yellow turds on the surface).
  A  man  with  white  tie and  dress shirt,  naked from
the waist down except  for black  garters, talks  to the
Queen  Bee  in  elegant  tones.  (Queen  Bees   are  old
women  who  surround  themselves  with  fairies  to form
a "swarm." It is a sinister Mexican practice. )
  "But where is the statuary?" He talks out of  one side
of his face, the other is  twisted by  the Torture  of a
Million  Mirrors.  He  masturbates  wildly.   The  Queen
Bee continues the conversation, notices nothing.
  Couches,  chairs,  the whole  floor begins  to vibrate,
shaking the guests to blurred  grey ghosts  shrieking in
cock-bound agony.
  Two  boys  jacking  off  under  railroad   bridge.  The
train shakes through their bodies, ejaculate them, fades
with  distant  whistle.  Frogs  croak.  The   boys  wash
semen off lean brown stomachs.
  Train  compartment:  two sick  young junkies  on their
way to Lexington  tear their  pants down  in convulsions
of lust. One of them soaps his cock and works it  up the
other's ass with  a corkscrew  motion. "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeee-
sus!"  Both  ejaculate  at once  standing up.  They move
away from each other and pull up their pants.
  "Old  croaker  in  Marshall  writes  for  tincture and
sweet oil."
  "The  piles  of  an  aged  mother  shriek out  raw and
bleeding  for  the  Black Shit....  Doc, suppose  it was
your  mother,  rimmed  by  resident  leaches,  squirming
around  so  nasty....  De-active  that pelvis,  mom, you
disgust me already"
  "Let's stop over and make him for an RX."
  The  train  tears on  through the  smoky, neon-lighted
June night.
  Pictures of men  and women,  boys and  girls, animals,
fish, birds, the copulating rhythm of the  universe Hows
through the room, a great blue tide of  life. Vibrating,
soundless hum of deep  forest --  sudden quiet  of cities
when  the  junky copes.  A moment  of stillness  and won-
der. Even the  Commuter buzzes  clogged lines  of choles-
terol for contact.
  Hassan  shrieks  out:  "This is  your doing,  A.J.! You
poopa my party!"
  A.J.  looks  at  him, face  remote as  limestone: "Uppa
your ass, you liquefying gook."
  A   horde   of   lust-mad   American  women   rush  in.
Dripping  cunts,  from  farm  and  dude  ranch,  factory,
brothel,  country  club,  penthouse  and   suburb,  motel
and yacht and cocktail bar, strip off riding  clothes, ski
togs, evening dresses, levis,  tea gowns,  print dresses,
slacks,  bathing  suits  and  kimonos.  They  scream  and
yipe  and howl,  leap on  the guests  like bitch  dogs in
heat with rabies. They  claw at  the hanged  boys shriek-
ing:  "You  fairy!  You  bastard!   Fuck  me!   Fuck  me!
Fuck  me!"   The  guests   flee  screaming,   dodge  among
the hanged boys, overturn iron lungs.
  A.J.:  "Call  out  my  Sweitzers,  God  damn  it! Guard
me from these she-foxest"
  Mr. Hyslop, A. J.'s secretary, looks up from  his comic
book: "The Sweitzers liquefy already."
  (Liquefaction  involves  protein  cleavage  and  reduc-
tion  to  liquid  which is  absorbed into  someone else's
protoplasmic being. Hassan, a  notorious liquefactionist,
is probably the beneficiary in this case.)
  A.J.:   "Gold-bricking   cocksuckers!  Where's   a  man
without his Sweitzers? Our  backs are  to the  wall, gen-
tlemen.  Our  very  cocks  at stake.  Stand by  to resist
boarders, Mr. Hyslop, and issue short arms to the men."
  A.J. whips out  a cutlass  and begins  decapitating the
American Girls. He sings lustily:
Fifteen men on the dead man's cheat
Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum.
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum.

Mr.  Hyslop,  bored  and  resigned:  "Oh Gawd!  He's at
it again." He waves the Jolly Roger listlessly.
A.J.,  surrounded  and  fighting  against  overwhelming
odds,  throws  back his  head and  makes with  the hog-
call. Immediately  a thousand  rutting Eskimos  pour in
grunting and squealing, faces  tumescent, eyes  hot and
red, lips purple, fall on the American women.
(Eskimos  have  a  rutting   season  when   the  tribes
meet in short Summer to  disport themselves  in orgies.
Their faces swell and lips turn purple. )
A  House  Dick  with  cigar  two  feet long  sticks his
head in  through the  wall: "Have  you got  a menagerie
in here?"
Hassan  wrings  his  hands:   "A  shambles!   A  filthy
shambles! By Allah  I never  see anything  so downright
nasty!"
He whirls on A.J. who is sitting on a sea chest, parrot
on  shoulder,  patch  over one  eye, drinking  rum from
a  tankard.  He  scans  the horizon  with a  huge brass
telescope.
Hassan:  "You  cheap  Factualist  bitch!  Go  and never
darken my rumpus room again!"
             CAMPUS OF INTERZONE UNIVERSITY

  Donkeys, camels, llamas,  rickshaws, carts  of merchan-
dise  pushed  by  straining  boys,  eyes  protruding like
strangled  tongues  --  throbbing  red  with  animal hate.
Herds  of   sheep  and   goats  and   long-horned  cattle
pass  between  the  students  and  the  lecture platform.
The  students  sit  around on  rusty park  benches, lime-
stone blocks, outhouse seats, packing crates,  oil drums,
stumps,  dusty  leather hassacks,  mouldy gym  mats. They
wear levis -- jellabas...  hose and  doublet --  drink corn
from  mason  jars,  coffee  from  tin  cans,  smoke  gage
(marijuana)  in  cigarettes  made  of wrapping  paper and
lottery  tickets...  shoot  junk  with  a safety  pin and
dropper,  study  racing  forms,  comic  books,  Mayan co-
dices....
  The Professor arrives  on a  bicycle carrying  a string
of  bull  heads.  He  mounts  the  platform  holding  his
back (crane swings a bellowing cow over his head).
  Prof:  "Fucked  by  the   Sultan's  Army   last  night.
I have dislocate the back in the  service of  my resident
queen....  Can't  evict  that old  gash. Need  a licensed
brain  electrician  disconnect  her synapsis  by synapsis
and a surgical bailiff put her guts out on  the sidewalk.
When  Ma  move  in  on  a  boy  bag  and buggage  he play
Hell dispossess that Gold Star Boarder...."
  He  looks  at  the  bull heads  humming tunes  from the
1920s.  "The nostalgia  fit is  on me  boys and  will out
willy   silly...   boys  walk   down  the   carny  Midway
eating  pink  spun  sugar...  goose  each  other  at  the
peep show...  jack off  in the  Ferris Wheel  throw sperm
at  the  moon  rising  red and  smoky over  the foundries
across the river. A Nigra hangs from a cotton wood
in front of The Old Court House... whimpering
women catch his sperm in vaginal teeth.... (Husband
looks at the little changeling with narrow eyes the
color of a faded grey flannel shirt.... 'Doc, I suspect
it to be a Nigra.'
  The Doctor shrugs: 'It's the Old Army Game, son.
Pea under the shell... Now you see it now you
don't....')
  "And Doc Parker in the back room in his drugstore
shooting horse heroin three grains a jolt -- 'Tonic,' he
mutters. 'It's always Spring.'
  " 'Hands' Benson Town Pervert has took up a queren-
cia in the school privy (Querencia is bullfight term....
The bull will find a spot in the ring he likes ".nd stay
there and the bullfighter has to go in and meet the bull
on his bull terms or coax him out -- one or the other).
Sheriff A.Q. 'Flat' Larsen say 'Some way we gotta lure
him outa that querencia.'...And Old Ma Lottie sleep
ten years with a dead daughter and home cured too,
wakes shivering in the East Texas dawn... vultures
out over the black swamp water and cypress stumps....
  "And now gentlemen -- I trust there are no transvest-
ites present -- he he -- and you are all gentlemen by act
of Congress it being only remain to establish you male
humans, positively no Transitionals in either direction
will be allowed in this decent hall. Gentlemen, present
short arms. Now you have all been briefed on the im-
portance of keeping your weapons well lubricated and
ready for any action flank or rear guard."
  Students: "Hear! Hear!" They wearily unbutton their
flies. One of them brandishes a huge erection.
  PROF:  "And  now,   gentlemen,  where   was  I?   Oh  yes,
Ma  Lottie...  She  wake  shivering   in  the   gentle  pink
dawn, pink as the candles on a little girl's  birthday cake,
pink as  spun sugar,  pink as  a sea-shell,  pink as  a cock
pulsing  in  a  red  fucking  light....  Ma   Lottie...  hu-
rumph... if  this prolixity  be not  cut short  will succumb
to  the  infirmities  of age  and join  her daughter  in for-
maldehyde.
  "The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  by   Coleridge  the
poet...  I  should  like  to  call  your  attention  to  the
symbolism of the Ancient Mariner himself."
  Students: "Himself the man says."
  "Thereby   call   attention   to   his   own  unappetizing
person.
  "That wasn't a nice thing to do, Teach."
  A   hundred   juvenile   delinquents...    switch   blades
clicking like teeth move at him.
  Prof:  "Oh  Landsakes!"  He  tries  desperately   to  dis-
guise  himself  as  an  old  woman  with  high  black  shoes
and  umbrella....  "If  it  wasn't  for  my   lumbago  can't
rightly  bend  over  I'd  turn  them  offering my  Sugar Bum
the  way  baboons  do  it....  If  a  weaker  baboon  be at-
tacked  by  a  stronger  baboon   the  weaker   baboon  will
either  (a)  present  his  hrump  fanny  I  believe  is  the
word,  gentlemen,  heh  heh   for  passive   intercourse  or
(b)  if  he  is a  different type  baboon more  extrovert and
well-adjusted,  lead  an  attack  on  an even  weaker baboon
if he can find one."
  Dilapidated  Disease  in  1920 clothes  like she  sleep in
them   ever  since   undulates  across   dreary  neonlighted
Chicago  street...  dead  weight  of  the  Dear   Dead  Days
hanging  in the  air like  an earth-bound  ghost. Disease:
(canned heat tenor). "Find the weakest baboon."
  Frontier saloon: Fag Baboon dressed in little  girl blue
dress  sings  in  resigned  voice  to  tune of  Alice Blue
Gown: "I'm the weakest baboon of them all."
  A freight train separates the Prof. from  the juveniles.
...When  the  train  passes  they  have  fat  stomachs and
responsible jobs....
  STUDENTS: "We want Lottie!"
  Prof:  "That  was  in  another   country,  gentlemen....
As I was saying before I was so rudely irrupted by  one of
my multiple personalities... troublesome  little beasts...
consider the Ancient Mariner  without curare,  lasso, bul-
bocapnine  or  straitjacket,  albeit  able to  capture and
hold  a  live  audience....  What  is  his  hurmp gimmick?
He  he he  he... He  does not,  like so-called  artists at
this  time,  stop just  anybody thereby  inflicting unsent
for   boredom   and   working   random   hardship....   He
stops  those  who  cannot  choose  but  hear owing  to al-
ready  existing  relation  between  The  Mariner  (however
ancient) and the uh Wedding Guest....
  "What  the  Mariner actually  says is  not important....
He  may  be  rambling,  irrelevant,  even  crude  and ram-
pant  senile.  But  something   happens  to   the  Wedding
Guest  like  happens  in  psychoanalysis  when  it happens
if it happens. If I may be  permitted a  slight digression
...an  analyst  of  my  acquaintance  does all  the talking
-- patients  listen patiently  or not....  He reminiscences
...tells  dirty  jokes  (old ones)  achieves counterpoints
of  idiocy  undreamed  of  by  The  County  Clerk.  He  is
illustrating  at  some  length  that  nothing can  ever be
accomplished on the verbal level....  He arrived  at this
method  through observing  that The  Listener --  The Ana-
lyst -- was not reading  the mind  of the  patient.... The
patient -- The Talker -- was reading  his mind....  That is
the  patient has  ESP awareness  of the  analyst's dreams
and  schemes  whereas  the  analyst contacts  the patient
strictly from front  brain.... Many  agents use  this ap-
proach -- they are notoriously  long-winded bores  and bad
listeners....
  "Gentlemen I will slop a pearl: You  can find  out more
about someone by talking than by listening."
  Pigs rush up and the Prof. pours buckets of pearls into
a trough....
  "I am not worthy to eat his feet," says the fattest hog
of them all.
  "Clay anyhoo."

    A.J.'S ANNUAL PARTY

  A.J. turns to the guests. "Cunts, pricks,  fence strad-
dlers, tonight I give you -- that  international-known im-
pressario  of  blue  movies and  short-wave TV,  the one,
the only, The Great Slashtubitch!"
  He  points  to a  red velvet  curtain sixty  feet high.
Lightning  rends  the  curtain  from  top to  bottom. The
Great Slashtubitch stands revealed. His face  is immense,
immobile like  a Chimu  funeral urn.  He wears  full eve-
ning dress, blue cape  and blue  monocle. Huge  grey eyes
with tiny black pupils that seem  to spit  needles. (Only
the  Coordinate Factualist  can meet  his gaze. )  When he
is angered the charge of  it will  blow his  monocle across
the room. Many an ill-starred actor has felt the  icy blast
of  Slashtubitch's  displeasure:  "Get  out  of  my studio,
you  cheap  four-flushing  ham!  Did  you  think to  pass a
counterfeit    orgasm   on    me!   THE    GREAT   SLASHTU-
BITCH!  I  could  tell  if  you  come  by  regard  the beeg
toe.  Idiot!  Mindless scum!!  Insolent baggage!!!  Go ped-
dle thy ass and know that it takes  sincerity and  art, and
devotion, to  work for  Slashtubitch. Not  shoddy trickery,
dubbed  gasps,  rubber  turds and  vials of  milk concealed
in  the  ear  and  shots  of   Yohimbine  sneaked   in  the
wings."  (  Yohimbine,  derived  from  the  bark of  a tree
growing in  Central Africa,  is the  safest and  most effi-
cient  aphrodisiac.  It  operates  by  dilating  the  blood
vessels on  the surface  of the  skin, particularly  in the
genital area. )
  Slashtubitch ejects his monocle. It  sails out  of sight,
returns  like  a  boomerang  into  his  eye.  He pirouettes
and  disappears  in  a  blue  mist,  cold as  liquid air...
fadeout....
  On  Screen.  Red-haired,   green-eyed  boy,   white  skin
with  a  few freckles...  kissing a  thin brunette  girl in
slacks. Clothes and hair-do suggest existentialist  bars of
all the world cities. They  are seated  on low  bed covered
in white silk. The girl opens his pants with gentle fingers
and pulls  out his  cock which  is small  and very  hard. A
drop  of  lubricant  gleams at  its tip  like a  pearl. She
caresses  the crown  gently: "Strip,  Johnny." He  takes off
his  clothes  with  swift sure  movements and  stands naked
before  her,  his  cock  pulsing.  She  makes a  motion for
him  to  turn  around  and  he  pirouettes across  the floor
parodying a model,  hand on  hip. She  takes off  her shirt.
Her breasts  are high  and small  with erect  nipples. She
slips off her underpants.  Her pubic  hairs are  black and
shiny.  He  sits  down  beside  her  and  reaches  for her
breast. She stops his hands.
    "Darling, I want to rim you," she whispers.
    "No. Not now."
    "Please, I want to."
    "Well, all right. I'll go wash my ass."
    "No, I'll wash it."
    "Aw shucks now, it ain't dirty."
    "Yes it is. Come on now, Johnny boy."
    She  leads  him  into  the  bathroom. "All  right, get
down."  He  gets  down  on  his  knees and  leans forward,
with his chin on the bath mat. "Allah," he says.  He looks
back and grins at her. She  washes his  ass with  soap and
hot water sticking her finger up it.
    "Does that hurt?"
    "Noooooooooo."
    "Come along, baby." She  leads the  way into  the bed-
room.  He  lies  down  on  his  back  and throws  his legs
back  over  his  head, clasping  elbows behind  his knees.
She kneel down  and caress  the backs  of his  thighs, his
balls,  running  her  fingers  down the  perennial divide.
She push  his cheeks  apart, lean  down and  begin licking
the anus, moving her head in  a slow  circle. She  push at
the sides of the  asshole, licking  deeper and  deeper. He
close  his  eyes  and  squirm. She  lick up  the perennial
divide. His small,  tight balls....  A great  pearl stands
out on the tip of his circumcised  cock. Her  mouth closes
over  the  crown.  She  sucks  rhythmically  up  and down,
pausing  on  the  up  stroke  and  moving her  head around
in a circle. Her hand plays gently  with his  balls, slide
down  and  middle  finger  up  his ass.  As she  suck down
toward the root of his cock she tickle his  prostate mock-
ingly. He grin and fart. She  is sucking  his cock  now in
a  frenzy.  His body  begins to  contract, pulling  up to-
ward  his  chin.  Each  time  the  contraction  is longer.
"Wheeeeeeee!"  the  boy  yell,  every  muscle  tense,  his
whole body strain to  empty through  his cock.  She drinks
his jissom which fills her mouth in  great hot  spurts. He
lets his feet Hop back onto  the bed.  He arches  his back
and yawns.
  Mary is  strapping on  a rubber  penis: "Steely  Dan III
from  Yokohama,"  she  says,  caressing  the  shaft.  Milk
spurts across the room.
  "Be sure that milk  is pasteurized.  Don't go  giving me
some  kinda  awful  cow disease  like anthrax  or glanders
or aftosa...."
  "When  I  was  a transvestite  Liz in  Chi used  to work
as  an  exterminator.  Make  advances  to pretty  boys for
the thrill of being beaten as  a man.  Later I  catch this
one  kid,  overpower  him with  supersonic judo  I learned
from an  old Lesbian  Zen monk.  I tie  him up,  strip off
his clothes with a razor and fuck him  with Steely  Dan I.
He is so relieved I don't castrate him literal he come all
over my bedbug spray."
  "What happen to Steely Dan II"
  "He  was  torn  in  two  by a  bull dike.  Most terrific
vaginal  grip  I  ever  experienced. She  could cave  in a
lead pipe. It was one of her parlor tricks."
  "And Steely Dan II"
  "Chewed  to  bits  by  a famished  candiru in  the Upper
Baboonsasshole. And don't say 'Wheeeeeeee!' this time."
  "Why not? It's real boyish."
  "Barefoot  boy,  check  thy   bullheads  with   the  ma-
dame."
  He looks  at the  ceiling, hands  behind his  head, cock
pulsing. "So what shall I do? Can't shit with  that dingus
up me. I wonder is it possible  to laugh  and come  at the
same time? I recall, during  the war,  at the  Jockey Club
in  Cairo,  me and  my asshole  buddy, Lu,  both gentlemen
by  act  of  Congress...  nothing  else  could  have  done
such a thing to  either of  us.... So  we got  laughing so
hard we piss all over ourselves and  the waiter  say: 'You
bloody  hash-heads, get  out of  here!' I  mean, if  I can
laugh the piss out of  me I  should be  able to  laugh out
jissom.  So  tell  me  something real  funny when  I start
coming.  You  can tell  by certain  premonitory quiverings
of the prostate gland...."
  She  puts  on  a  record,  metallic cocaine  be-bop. She
greases the dingus, shoves  the boy's  legs over  his head
and works it up his ass with a  series of  corkscrew move-
ments of her fluid hips. She moves in  a slow  circle, re-
volving  on  the  axis  of  the shaft.  She rubs  her hard
nipples  across  his  chest.  She kisses  him on  neck and
chin and  eyes. He  runs his  hands down  her back  to her
buttocks, pulling her into his  ass. She  revolves faster,
faster. His body jerks and  writhes in  convulsive spasms.
"Hurry up, please," she says. "The milk is  getting cold."
He  does  not  hear.  She presses  her mouth  against his.
Their faces run together. His sperm  hits her  breast with
light, hot licks.
  Mark  is  standing in  the doorway.  He wears  a turtle-
neck  black  sweater.  Cold, handsome,  narcissistic face.
Green  eyes  and  black hair.  He looks  at Johnny  with a
slight sneer, his head on  one side,  hands on  his jacket
pockets, a  graceful hoodlum  ballet. He  jerk his  head and
Johnny   walk   ahead   of  him   into  the   bedroom.  Mary
follow.  "All  right,  boys,"  she  say, sitting  down naked
on a pink silk dais overlooking the bed. "Get with it!"
  Mark  begin   to  undress   with  fluid   movements,  hip-
rolls, squirm out of his  turtle-neck sweater  revealing his
beautiful  white  torso  in  a  mocking belly  dance. Johnny
deadpan,  face  frozen,  breath  quick,  lips   dry,  remove
his  clothes  and  drop  them  on the  floor. Mark  lets his
shorts fall on one foot. He kick like a chorus-girl, sending
the  shorts  across  the  room.  Now  he  stand  naked,  his
cock  stiff, straining  up and  out. He  run slow  eyes over
Johnny's body. He smile and lick his lips,
  Mark  drop  on  one  knee,   pulling  Johnny   across  his
back  by  one  arm.  He  stand  up  and  throw him  six feet
onto  the  bed.  Johnny  land  on   his  back   and  bounce.
Mark  jump  up  and  grab  Johnny's  ankles, throw  his legs
over  his  head.  Mark's  lips  are  drawn  back in  a tight
snarl.  "All  right,  Johnny  boy."  He contracts  his body,
slow  and  steady  as  an  oiled machine,  push his  cock up
Johnny's  ass.  Johnny  give  a  great  sigh,  squirming  in
ecstasy.  Mark  hitches  his  hands  behind  Johnny's shoul-
ders,  pulling  him  down  onto  his  cock  which  is buried
to  the  hilt in  Johnny's ass.  Great whistles  through his
teeth.  Johnny  screams  like  a bird.  Mark is  rubbing his
face  against  Johnny's,  snarl  gone,  face   innocent  and
boyish  as  his  whole  liquid  being  spurt  into  Johnny's
quivering body.
  A  train   roar  through   him  whistle   blowing...  boat
whistle,  foghorn,  sky  rocket  burst over  oily lagoons...
penny  arcade  open  into  a   maze  of   dirty  pictures...
ceremonial   cannon   boom   in   the  harbor...   a  scream
shoots  down  a  white  hospital  corridor... out  along a
wide  dusty  street  between  palm  trees,   whistles  out
across the  desert like  a bullet  (vulture wings  husk in
the  dry  air),  a  thousand  boys  come  at once  in out-
houses,  bleak public  school toilets,  attics, basements,
treehouses,  Ferris  wheels,  deserted  houses,  limestone
caves, rowboats,  garages, barns,  rubbly windy  city out-
skirts  behind  mud  walls  (smell of  dried excrement)...
black  dust  blowing  over  lean  copper  bodies... ragged
pants  dropped  to  cracked  bleeding bare  feet... (place
where  vultures fight  over fish  heads)... by  jungle la-
goons, vicious fish snap at white sperm floating  on black
water,  sand  flies  bite the  copper ass,  howler monkies
like  wind  in  the trees  (a land  of great  brown rivers
where  whole  trees  float,  bright  colored snakes  in the
branches,  pensive  lemurs  watch   the  shore   with  sad
eyes),  a red  plane traces  arabesques in  blue substance
of sky, a rattlesnake strike, a  cobra rear,  spread, spit
white venom, pearl and opal  chips fall  in a  slow silent
rain  through  air clear  as glycerine.  Time jump  like a
broken  typewriter,  the  boys  are  old  men,  young hips
quivering  and  twitching  in  boy-spasms  go   slack  and
flabby,  draped  over  an  outhouse seat,  a park  bench, a
stone  wall  in  Spanish  sunlight,  a  sagging  furnished
room  bed  (outside red  brick slum  in clear  winter sun-
light)...  twitching  and  shivering  in  dirty underwear,
probing for a vein in  the junk-sick  morning, in  an Arab
cafe  muttering  and  slobbering   --  the   Arabs  whisper
"Medjoub" and edge  away --  (a Medjoub  is a  special sort
of  religious  Moslem  lunatic...  often  epileptic  among
other  disorders).  "The  Moslems  must  have   blood  and
jissom.... See, see  where Christ's  blood streams  in the
spermament,"   howls   the   Medjoub....   He    stand   up
screaming  and  black  blood  spurt  solid  from  his  last
erection, a pale white statue standing there, as if  he had
stepped  whole  across  the Great  Fence, climbed  it inno-
cent  and calm  as a  boy climb  the fence  to fish  in the
forbidden pond  -- in  a few  seconds he  catch a  huge cat-
fish -- The  Old Man  will rush  out of  a little  black hut
cursing,  with  a  pitchfork  and  the  boy   run  laughing
across the Missouri field -- he find a beautiful pink arrow-
head  and  snatch it  up as  he runs  with a  flowing swoop
of  young  bone  and  muscle  -- (his  bones blend  into the
Beld,  he  lies  dead  by  the  wooden  fence a  shotgun by
his side, blood on frozen  red clap  seeps into  the winter
stubble  of  Georgia)....  The  catfish billows  out behind
him....  He  come  to  the  fence  and  throw  the  catfish
over into blood-streaked grass...  the fish  lies squirming
and  squawking  --  vaults  the  fence.  He  snatch  up  the
catfish  and  disappear  up a  flint-studded red  clay road
between    oaks    and   persimmons    dropping   red-brown
leaves  in  a  windy  fall  sunset,  green and  dripping in
Summer  dawn,  black  against  a  clear  winter  day... the
Old  Man  scream  curses  after  him...  his teeth  fly from
his  mouth  and  whistle  over  the  boy's head,  he strain
forward, his neck-cords tight as  steel hoops,  black blood
spurt  in  one solid  piece over  the fence  and he  fall a
fleshless   mummy   by   the   fever  grass.   Thorns  grow
through  his  ribs,  the  windows break  in his  hut, dusty
glass-slivers in black putty -- rats run over the  floor and
boys  jack  off  in  the  dark  musty  bedroom   on  summer
afternoons  and  eat the  berries that  grow from  his body
and bones, mouths smeared with purple-red juices....
  The  old  junky  has  found a  vein... blood  blossoms in
the  dropper  like a  Chinese flower...  he push  home the
heroin and the boy who  jacked off  fifty years  ago shine
immaculate through  the ravaged  flesh, fill  the outhouse
with the sweet nutty smell of young male lust....
  How  many  years   threaded  on   a  needle   of  blood?
Hands  slack  on  lap  he  sit looking  out at  the winter
dawn  with  the  cancelled  eyes  of  junk. The  old queer
squirm  on  a  limestone  bench  in  Chapultepec  Park  as
Indian  adolescents  walk  by,  arms  around  each other's
necks  and  ribs,  straining  his  dying  flesh  to occupy
young  buttocks  and  thighs,  tight  balls  and  spurting
cocks.
  Mark and  Johnny sit  facing each  other in  a vibrating
chair, Johnny impaled on Mark's cock.
  "All set, Johnny?"
  "Turn it on."
  Mark  flips the  switch and  the chair  vibrate.... Mark
tilt his head looking up at Johnny, his face  remote, eyes
cool  and  mocking  on  Johnny's  face....  Johnny  scream
and  whimper....  His  face  disintegrates  as  if  melted
from  within....  Johnny  scream  like  a  mandrake, black
out  as  his  sperm  spurt, slump  against Mark's  body an
angel  on the  nod. Mark  pat Johnny's  shoulder absently.
...Room  like  gymnasium....  The  floor  is  foam rubber,
covered  in  white  silk....  One  wall  is  glass.... The
rising sun fills the room with pink  light. Johnny  is led
in,  hands  tied,  between  Mary  and  Mark.  Johnny  sees
the  gallows  and  sags   with  a   great  "Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
his chin  pulling down  towards his  cock, his  legs bend-
ing at the  knees. Sperm  spurts, arching  almost vertical
in front of  his face.  Mark and  Mary are  suddenly impa-
tient  and  hot....  They  push  Johnny  forward  onto the
gallows  platform  covered  with  moldy  jockstraps  and
sweat shirts. Mark is adjusting the noose.
  "Well, here  you go."  Mark starts  to push  Johnny off
the platform.
  Mary:  "No,  let  me."  She  locks  her  hands  behind
Johnny's buttocks, puts her forehead against  him, smil-
ing into his eyes she  moves back,  pulling him  off the
platform into space.... His  face swells  with blood....
Mark  reaches  up  with  one  lithe  movement  and snaps
Johnny's  neck...  sound  like  a  stick  broken  in wet
towels. A shudder  runs down  Johnny's body...  one foot
flutters like a trapped bird.... Mark has  draped himself
over a swing  and mimics  Johnny's twitches,  closes his
eyes and sticks his tongue out.... Johnny's cock springs
up  and  Mary guides  it up  her cunt,  writhing against
him in a fluid belly dance, groaning and  shrieking with
delight... sweat pours  down her  body, hair  hangs over
her  face  in  wet  strands. "Cut  him down,  Mark," she
screams. Mark reaches over  with a  snap knife  and cuts
the rope, catching Johnny as he  falls, easing  him onto
his back with  Mary still  impaled and  writhing.... She
bites away Johnny's lips and nose and sucks out his eyes
with a pop.... She  tears off  great hunks  of cheek....
Now  she  lunches on  his prick....  Mark walks  over to
her and she looks up from Johnny's  half-eaten genitals,
her  face  covered  with blood,  eyes phosphorescent....
Mark puts his foot on  her shoulder  and kicks  her over
on her back.... He  leaps on  her, fucking  her insanely
...they  roll from  one end  of the  room to  the other,
pinwheel  end-over-end  and  leap high  in the  air like
great hooked fish.
  "Let  me  hang  you,  Mark....   Let  me   hang  you....
Please, Mark, let me hang you!"
  "Sure  baby."  He  pulls  her brutally  to her  feet and
pins her hands behind her.
  "No,  Mark!!  No!  No!  No,"  she screams,  shitting and
pissing  in terror  as he  drags her  to the  platform. He
leaves her  tied on  the platform  in a  pile of  old used
condoms,  while  he  adjusts the  rope across  the room...
and comes back  carrying the  noose on  a silver  tray. He
jerks her to her feet  and tightens  the noose.  He sticks
his cock up her and  waltzes around  the platform  and off
into  ~pace  swinging  in a  great arc....  "Wheeeeee!" he
screams,  turning  into  Johnny. Her  neck snaps.  A great
fluid  wave  undulates  through  her  body.   Johnny  drops
to  the floor  and stands  poised and  alert like  a young
animal.
  He  leaps  about  the  room.  With  a scream  of longing
that  shatters  the glass  wall he  leaps out  into space.
Masturbating  end-over-end,  three  thousand   feet  down,
his  sperm  floating beside  him, he  screams all  the way
against the shattering blue of sky,  the rising  sun burn-
ing  over  his body  like gasoline,  down past  great oaks
and   persimmons,   swamp   cypress   and   mahogany,   to
shatter in  liquid relief  in a  ruined square  paved with
limestone.  Weeds  and  vines  grow  between  the  stones,
and rusty iron bolts three feet thick penetrate  the white
stone, stain it shit-brown of rust.
  Johnny  dowses  Mary  with  gasoline  from   an  obscene
Chimu  jar  of  white  jade.... He  anoints his  own body.
... They  embrace,  fall  to  the floor  and roll  under a
great  magnifying  glass  set  in  the roof...  burst into
flame with a cry that shatters the  glass wall,  roll into
space, fucking and screaming through  the air,  burst in
blood  and  flames  and  soot  on  brown. rocks  under a
desert sun. Johnny leaps about the  room in  agony. With
a scream that shatters the glass wall he  stands spread-
eagle to the rising sun, blood spurting out  his cock...
a  white  marble  god,  he  plummets  through  epileptic
explosions  into  the  old  Medjoub  writhe in  shit and
rubbish by a mud  wall under  a sun  that scar  and grab
the  flesh into  goose-pimples.... He  is a  boy sleeping
against the  mosque wall,  ejaculates wet  dreaming into
a thousand cunts pink and smooth as sea  shells, feeling
the delight of prickly pubic hairs slide up his cock.

  John  and  Mary  in  hotel  room  (music  of  East St.
Louis  Toodleoo).  Warm  spring  wind  blows  faded pink
curtains  in  through  open  window....  Frogs  croak in
vacant lots where corn grows and boys catch little green
garter  snakes  under  broken  limestone  stelae stained
with shit and threaded with rusty barbed wire....

  Neon -- chlorophyll green, purple, orange --  flashes on
and off. )

  Johnny extracts a  candiru from  Mary's cunt  with his
calipers.... He drops it into a  bottle of  mescal where
it turns into a Maguey  worm.... He  gives her  a douche
of  jungle  bone-softener,  her  vaginal teeth  flow out
mixed  with blood  and cysts....  Her cunt  shines fresh
and sweet as spring grass.... Johnny licks  Mary's cunt,
slow at first, with rising excitement parts the lips and
licks inside feeling the prickle of  pubic hairs  on his
tumescent  tongue....  Arms  thrown back,  breasts poin-
ing  straight  up,  Mary  lies  transfixed  with  neon nails.
...Johnny  moves  up  her  body,  his  cock  with  a  shining
round  opal  of lubricant  at the  open slit,  slides through
her pubic hairs and  enters her  cunt to  the hilt,  drawn in
by  a  suction  of  hungry  flesh....  His  face  swells  with
blood,  green  lights  burst  behind  his  eyes and  he falls
with a scenic railway through screaming girls....
  Damp  hairs  on  the  back  of  his balls  dry to  grass in
the  warm  spring  wind.  High  jungle  valley,  vines  creep
in  the  window.  Johnny's  cock  swells,  great   rank  buds
burst  out.  A  long  tuber  root  creeps  from  Mary's cunt,
feels  for  the  earth.  The  bodies  disintegrate  in  green
explosions.  The  hut  falls  in ruins  of broken  stone. The
boy  is  a  limestone  statue,  a  plant  sprouting  from his
cock, lips parted in the half-smile  of a  junky on  the nod.

        4

        0 0

  The Beagle has stashed the heroin in a lottery ticket,
  One more shot -- tomorrow the cure.
  The  way  is  long.  Hard-ons  and  bring-downs   are  fre-
quent.
  It  was a  long time  over the  stony reg  to the  oasis of
date  palms  where  Arab  boys  shit  in  the  well  and rock
n'  roll  across the  sands of  muscle beach  eating hot-dogs
and spitting out gold teeth in nuggets.
  Toothless  and  strictly  from  the  long hunger,  ribs you
could  wash  your  filthy overalls  on, that  corrugate, they
quaver  down  from  the  outrigger   in  Easter   Island  and
stalk ashore on legs stiff and brittle as stilts...  they nod
in  club  windows...  fallen  into the  fat of  lack-need to
sell a slim body.
  The date palms  have died  of meet  lack, the  well filled
with  dried  shit  and  mosaic  of  a  thousand  newspapers:
"Russia   denies...   The   Home   Secretary    views   with
pathic   alarm...  The   trap  was   sprung  at   12:02.  At
12:30  the  doctor  went  out  to  eat oysters,  returned at
2:00  to  clap  the  hanged  man   jovially  on   the  back.
'what? Aren't you  dead yet?  Guess I'll  have to  pull your
leg. Haw Haw! Can't let  you choke  at this  rate --  I'd get
a  warning  from  the  President.  And  what  a  disgrace if
the  dead  wagon  cart you  out alive.  My balls  would drop
off with  the shame  of it  and I  apprenticed myself  to an
experienced ox. One two three pull.' "
  The sail plane falls silent as erection, silent as greased
glass  broken  by  the  young  thief  with  old-woman  hands
a;id  cancelled eyes  of junk....  In a  noiseless explosion
he   penetrates   the  broken   house,  stepping   over  the
greased crystals,  a clock  ticks loud  in the  kitchen, hot
air ruffles his hair, his head disintegrates in a  heavy duck
load....  The  Old  Man  flips  out a  red shell  and pirou-
ettes  around  his shotgun.  "Aw, shucks,  fellers, tweren't
nothing....  Fish  in  the  barrel....  Money  in  the  bank
...round-heeled  boy,  one  greased  shot  brain  goose  and
he  Hop  in  an  obscene  position....   Can  you   hear  me
from where you are, boy?
  "I  was  young  myself once  and heard  the siren  call of
easy   money  and   women  and   tight  boy-ass   and  lands
sake  don't get  my blood  up I  am subject  to tell  a tale
make  your  cock  stand  up  and  yipe  for the  pink pearly
way  of  young  cunt  or  the  lovely  brown  mucous-covered
palpitating  tune  of  the  young  boy-ass  play  your  cock
like a  recorder... and  when you  hit the  prostate pearl
sharp  diamonds gather  in the  golden lad  balls inexora-
ble  as a  kidney stone....  Sorry I  had to  kill you....
The  old  grey  mare  aint  what she  used to  be.... Cant
run  down  an  audience...  got to  bring down  that house
on the  wing, run  or sit....  Like an  old lion  took bad
with  cavities  he  need  that  amident toothpaste  keep a
feller biting fresh at all times....  Them old  lions shit
sure  turn  boyeater....  And  who  can  blame  them, boys
being so sweet so cold so fair  in St.  James Infirmary?'?
Now,  son,  don't  you get  rigor mortis  on me.  Show re-
spect for the  aging prick....  You may  be a  tedious old
fuck yourself  some day....  Oh, uh;  I guess  not.... You
have,  like  Housman's  barefoot  shameless  catamite  The
Congealed Shropshire Ingenue  set your  fleet foot  on the
silo  of  change....  But you  cant kill  those Shropshire
boys... been hanged  so often  he resist  it like  a gono-
coccus half castrate with pencillin  rallies to  a hideous
strength  and  multiplies geometric....  So leave  us cast
a  vote  for  decent  acquittal  and put  an end  to those
beastly exhibitions for which the sheriff levy a  pound of
fiesh."
  Sheriff: "I'll lower his pants for a pound,  folks. Step
right up. A serious and scientific exhibit  concerning the
locality  of  the  Life  Center.  This character  has nine
inches,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  measure   them  yourself
inside. Only  one pound,  one queer  three dollar  bill to
see a young boy come three times  at least  -- I  never de-
mean  myself  to  process  a  eunuch --  completely against
his will. When his neck snaps sharp, this  character will
shit-sure come to rhythmic attention and spurt it  out all
over you.
  The boy stands on the trap  shifting his  weight from
one leg to the other: "Gawd!  What a  boy hasta  put up
with in this business. Sure as  shit some  horrible old
character get physical."
  Traps falls, rope sings like wind in wire, neck snaps
loud and clear as a Chinese gong.
  The  boy  cuts  himself  down  with  a  switch-blade,
chases  a  screaming  fag down  the midway.  The faggot
dives  through the  glass of  a penny  arcade peep-show
and rims a grinning Negro. Fadeout.
  (Mary,  Johnny  and Mark  take a  bow with  the ropes
around  their  necks.  They  are not  as young  as they
appear  in  the  Blue  Movies....  They look  tired and
petulant. )

        MEETING OF INTERNATIONAL
  CONFERENCE OF TECHNOLOGICAL
  PSYCHIATRY

  Doctor  "Fingers"  Schafer,  the Lobotomy  Kid, rises
and turns on the Conferents the cold blue blast  of his
gaze:
  "Gentlemen,  the  human  nervous  system  can  be re-
duced  to  a  compact  and  abbreviated  spinal column.
The brain, front, middle and rear must follow  the ade-
noid,  the wisdom  tooth, the  appendix.... I  give you
my  Master   Work:  The   Complete  All   American  De-
anxietixed Man...."
  Blast of  trumpets: The  Man is  carried in  naked by
two Negro  Bearers who  drop him  on the  platform with
bestial,  sneering  brutality....  The  Man wriggles....
His flesh turns to viscid, transparent jelly  that drifts
away  in green  mist, unveiling  a monster  black centi-
pede.  Waves of  unknown stench  fill the  room, searing
the lungs, grabbing the stomach....
  Schafer  wrings  his  hands sobbing:  "Clarence! How
can you do  this to  me?? Ingrates!!  Every one  of them
ingrates!'
  The Conferents start back muttering in dismay:
  "I'm afraid Schafer has gone a bit too far...."
  "I sounded a word of warning...."
  "Brilliant chap Schafer... but..."
  "Man will do anything for publicity...."
  "Gentlemen, this  unspeakable and  in every  sense il-
legitimate  child  of  Doctor Schafer's  perverted brain
must not see the light....  Our duty  to the  human race
is clear...."
  "Man he done seen the  light," said  one of  the Negro
Bearers.
  "We  must  stomp  out  the Un-American  crittah,' says
a fat, frog-faced  Southern doctor  who has  been drink-
ing  corn  out of  a mason  jar. He  advances drunkenly,
then halts, appalled by the  formidable size  and menac-
ing aspect of the centipede....
  "Fetch gasoline!" he bellows. "We  gotta burn  the son
of a bitch like an uppity Nigra!"
  "I'm not sticking my neck  out, me,"  says a  cool hip
young  doctor  high  on  LSD25....  "Why  a  smart  D.A.
could..."
  Fadeout. "Order in The Court1"
  D.A.:"Gentlemen  of the  jury, these  'learned gentle-
men' claim that  the innocent  human creature  they have
so wantonly slain suddenly turned himself into a huge
black centipede and it was 'their duty to the human
race' to destroy this monster before it could, by any
means at its disposal, perpetrate its kind....
  "Are we to gulp down this tissue of horse shit! Are
we to take these glib lies like a greased and nameless
asshole? Where is this wondrous centipede?
  " 'We have destroyed it,' they say smugly.... And I
would like to remind you, Gentlemen and Hermaphro-
dites of the Jury, that this Great Beast" -- he points to
Doctor Schafer -- "has, on several previous occasions,
appeared in this court charged with the unspeakable
crime of brain rape.... In plain English" -- he pounds
the rail of the jury box, his voice rises to a scream -- "in
plain English, Gentlemen, forcible lobotomy...."
  The Jury gasps..., One dies of a heart attack....
Three fall to the floor writhing in orgasms of pruri-
ence....
  The D.A. points dramatically: "He it is.... He and
no other who has reduced whole provinces of our fair
land to a state bordering on the far side of idiocy....
He it is who has filled great warehouses with row on
row, tier on tier of helpless creatures who must have
their every want attended.... 'The Drones' he calls
them with a cynical leer of pure educated evil....
Gentlemen, I say to you that the wanton murder of
Clarence Cowie must not go unavenged: This foul
crime shrieks like a wounded faggot for justice at least!"
  The centipede is rushing about in agitation.
  "Man, that mother fucker's hungry," screams one of
the Bearers.
  "I'm getting out of here, me."
  A  wave  of  electric  horror  sweeps through  the Con-
ferents....  They  storm  the  exits screaming  and claw-
ing....

        THE MARKET

  Panorama  of  the  City of  Interzone. Opening  bars of
East  St.  Louis  Toodleoo...  at  times  loud  and clear
then  faint  and  intermittent  like  music down  a windy
street....
  The  room  seems  to  shake  and  vibrate  with motion.
The  blood  and  substance  of  many races,  Negro, Poly-
nesian,  Mountain  Mongol,  Desert  Nomad,  Polyglot Near
East,  Indian  --  races  as  yet unconceived  and unborn,
combinations  not  yet realized  pass through  your body.
Migrations,  incredible  journeys  through   deserts  and
jungles and mountains (stasis and  death in  closed moun-
tain  valleys  where  plants grow  out of  genitals, vast
crustaceans  hatch inside  and break  the shell  of body)
across the Pacific in an outrigger canoe to Easter Island.
The  Composite  City  where  all  human   potentials  are
spread out in a vast silent market.
  Minarets,  palms,   mountains,  jungle...   A  sluggish
river jumping  with vicious  fish, vast  weed-grown parks
where boys lie in the  grass, play  cryptic games,  Not a
locked  door  in the  City. Anyone  comes into  your room
at any time. The Chief of Police is a Chinese  who picks
his  teeth and  listens to  denunciations presented  by a
lunatic.  Every  now  and  then  the  Chinese  takes  the
toothpick out of his mouth and  looks at  the end  of it.
Hipsters  with  smooth  copper-colored  faces   lounge  in
doorways  twisting  shrunk  heads  on  gold  chains, their
faces blank with an insect's unseeing calm.
  Behind  them,  through  open  doors,  tables  and booths
and  bars,  and  kitchens  and  baths,  copulating couples
on  rows  of  brass  beds, crisscross  of a  thousand ham-
mocks,  junkies  tying  up  for  a  shot,  opium  smokers,
hashish  smokers,  people  eating  talking   bathing  back
into a haze of smoke and steam.
  Gaming  tables  where  the  games  are  played  for  in-
credible  stakes.  From  time  to time  a player  leaps up
with a despairing  cry, having  lost his  youth to  an old
man  or  become  Latah  to  his  opponent.  But  there are
higher  stakes  than  youth  or  Latah,  games  where only
two players in the world know what the stakes are.
  All houses in the City are joined. Houses of sod  -- high
mountain  Mongols  blink  in  smokey  doorways   --  houses
of  bamboo  and  teak,  houses  of  adobe,  stone  and red
brick,  South Pacific  and Maori  houses, houses  in trees
and  river  boats,  wood  houses  one  hundred  feet  long
sheltering entire tribes, houses  of boxes  and corrugated
iron  where  old  men  sit  in  rotten  rags  cooking down
canned  heat, great  rusty iron  racks rising  two hundred
feet  in  the air  from swamps  and rubbish  with perilous
partitions  built  on  multi-levelled platforms,  and ham-
mocks swinging over the void.
  Expeditions  leave  for  unknown  places   with  unknown
purposes. Strangers arrive on rafts of old  packing crates
tied together  with rotten  rope, they  stagger in  out of
the  jungle  their  eyes swollen  shut from  insect bites,
they  come  down  the  mountain  trails on  cracked bleed-
ing feet through the  dusty windy  outskirts of  the city,
where  people  defecate   in  rows   along  adobe   walls  and
vultures   fight  over   fish  heads.   They  drop   down  into
parks  in   patched  parachutes,...   They  are   escorted  by
a  drunken  cop  to register  in a  vast public  lavatory. The
data  taken  down  is  put  on  pegs  to  be  used  as  toilet
paper.
  Cooking  smells  of  all  countries  hang  over   the  City,
a  haze  of  opium,  hashish,  the   resinous  red   smoke  of
Yage,  smell  of  the jungle  and salt  water and  the rotting
river and dried excrement and sweat and genitals.
  High   mountain   flutes,   jazz  and   bebop,  one-stringed
Mongol   instruments,   gypsy   xylophones,   African   drums,
Arab bagpipes...
  The  City  is  visited  by  epidemics  of violence,  and the
untended  dead  are   eaten  by   vultures  in   the  streets.
Albinos  blink  in  the  sun.  Boys  sit  in  trees, languidly
masturbate.   People   eaten   by   unknown   diseases   watch
the passerby with evil, knowing eyes.
  In  the  City  Market  is  the Meet  Cafe. Followers  of ob-
solete,  unthinkable  trades  doodling  in  Etruscan,  addicts
of  drugs  not  yet  synthesized,  pushers  of  souped-up Har-
maline,  junk  reduced  to  pure  habit   offering  precarious
vegetable  serenity,  liquids   to  induce   Latah,  Tithonian
longevity  serums,   black  marketeers   of  World   War  III,
excisors of telepathic sensitivity, osteopaths of  the spirit,
investigators   of  infractions   denounced  by   bland  para-
noid   chess   players,   servers   of   fragmentary  warrants
taken   down   in    hebephrenic   shorthand    charging   un-
speakable  mutilations  of  the  spirit, bureaucrats  of spec-
tral  departments,  officials  of unconstituted  police states,
a   Lesbian   dwarf   who   has   perfected   operation  Bang-
utot,  the  lung  erection  that  strangles a  sleeping enemy,
sellers  of  orgone tanks  and relaxing  machines, brokers
of  exquisite  dreams  and memories  tested on  the sensi-
tized cells of junk  sickness and  bartered for  raw mate-
rials of  the will,  doctors skilled  in the  treatment of
diseases  dormant  in  the  black  dust of  ruined cities,
gathering virulence in  the white  blood of  eyeless worms
feeling slowly to the  surface and  the human  host, mala-
dies  of  the  ocean floor  and the  stratosphere, maladies
of the  laboratory and  atomic war....  A place  where the
unknown  past  and  the  emergent  future  meet  in  a vi-
brating  soundless  hum... Larval  entities waiting  for a
Live One...
  (Section  describing   The  City   and  the   Meet  Cafe
written  in  state  of  Yage  intoxication...  Yage, Ayua-
huasca,  Pilde,  Nateema  are  Indian  names   for  Banni-
steria  Caapi,  a  fast  growing  vine  indigenous  to the
Amazon region. See discussion of Yage in Appendix. )
  Notes  from  Yage  state:  Images  fall slow  and silent
like  snow....  Serenity...  All  defenses  fall... every-
thing is free to  enter or  to go  out.... Fear  is simply
impossible....  A  beautiful  blue  substance   Hows  into
me.... I see an archaic grinning  face like  South Pacific
mask....   The   face  is   blue  purple   splotched  with
gold....
  The  room  takes  on  aspect  of  Near  East  whorehouse
with blue walls and red tasseled  lamps.... I  feel myself
turning into a Negress, the black color  silently invading
my  flesh....  Convulsions of  lust... My  legs take  on a
well  rounded  Polynesian  substance....  Everything stirs
with a writhing furtive  life.... The  room is  Near East,
Negro,  South  Pacific,  in some  familiar place  I cannot
locate....   Yage  is   space-time  travel....   The  room
seems  to  shake  and  vibrate  with  motion....   The  blood
and  substance  of  many  races,  Negro,   Polynesian,  Moun-
tain   Mongol,   Desert  Nomad,   Polyglot  Near   East,  In-
dian,   races   as   yet   unconceived  and   unborn,  passes
through   the   body....   Migrations,   incredible  journeys
through  deserts  and  jungles  and  mountains   (stasis  and
death  in  closed  mountain  valley  where  plants  grow  out
of  genitals,  vast  crustaceans hatch  inside and  break the
shell  of  body)  across  the Pacific  in an  outrigger canoe
to Easter Island,...
    (It  occurs  to  me  that  preliminary  Yage   nausea  is
motion sickness of transport to Yage state....)
    "All medicine men use  it in  their practice  to foretell
the future, locate lost  or stolen  objects, to  diagnose and
treat illness,  to name  the perpetrator  of a  crime." Since
the Indian ( straitjacket for Herr Boas -- trade joke  -- noth-
ing   so   maddens  an   anthropologist  as   Primitive  Man)
does  not  regard  any  death  as  accidental,  and  they are
unacquainted  with  their  own  self-destructive   trends  re-
ferring  to  them  contemptuously  as  "our  naked  cousins,"
or  perhaps  feeling  that  these trends  above all  are sub-
ject  to  the manipulation  of alien  and hostile  wills, any
death  is  murder.  The  medicine  man  takes  Yage  and  the
identity  of  the  murderer is  revealed to  him. As  you may
imagine,  the  deliberations  of  the  medicine   man  during
one of these jungle  inquests give  rise to  certain feelings
of uneasiness among his constituents.
    "Let's  hope  Old  Xiuptutol  don't wig  and name  one of
the boys."
    "Take a curare and relax. We got the fix in..."
    "But  if  he  wig? Picking  up on  that Nateema  all the
time  he  don't  touch  the  ground  in  twenty  years....  I
tell you, Boss, nobody can hit the stuff like  that.... It
cooks the brains...."
  "So we declare him incompetent...."
  So Xiuptutol reels out of the jungle  and says  the boys
in  the Lower  Tzpino territory  done it,  which surprises
no one.... Take it from an old  Brujo, dearie,  they don't
like surprises....
  A  funeral  passes  through  the  market. Black  coffin --
Arabic inscriptions in filigreed silver -- carried  by four
pallbearers.  Procession of  mourners singing  the funeral
song...  Clem  and  Jody  fall  in  beside  them  carrying
coffin, the corpse of a hog bursts out  of it....  The hog
is dressed in a jellaba, a keif pipe juts from  its mouth,
one hoof holds a packet of  feelthy pictures,  a mezuzzoth
hangs about its  neck.... Inscribed  on the  coffin: "This
was the noblest Arab of them all."
  They sing hideous parody  of the  funeral song  in false
Arabic. Jody can do a fake Chinese spiel that'll just kill
you -- like a hysterical ventriloquist's dummy. In fact, he
precipitated an anti-foreign riot in Shanghai that claimed
3,000 casualties.
  "Stand  up,  Gertie,  and  show  respect  for  the local
gooks."
  "I suppose one should."
  "My  dear,  I'm  working  on  the most  marvelous inven-
tion...  a  boy  who  disappears  as  soon  as   you  come
leaving a smell of burning  leaves and  a sound  effect of
distant train whistles."
  "Ever  make  sex  in  no gravity?  Your jism  just floats
out in the air  like lovely  ectoplasm, and  female guests
are  subject to  immaculate or  at least  indirect concep-
tion....  Reminds  me  of an  old friend  of mine,  one of
the  handsomest  men  I have  ever known  and one  of the
maddest  and  absolutely  ruined  by  wealth. He  used to
go  about  with a  water pistol  shooting jism  up career
women  at  parties.  Won  all  his paternity  suits hands
down. Never use his own jism you understand."
    Fadeout... "Order in the Court." Attorney for  A. J.,
"Conclusive  tests  have established  that my  client has
no  uh personal  connection with  the uh  little accident
of the  charming plaintiff....  Perhaps she  is preparing
to  emulate  the  Virgin  Mary and  conceive immaculately
naming  my  client  as  a  hurumph  ghostly  pander.... I
am  reminded  of  a  case  in  fifteenth-century  Holland
where  a  young  woman  accused  an elderly  and respect-
able sorcerer  of conjuring  up a  succubus who  then had
uh  carnal  knowledge  of  the  young person  in question
with the  under the  circumstances regrettable  result of
pregnancy.  So  the  sorcerer was  indicted as  an accom-
plice  and  rampant  voyeur before  during and  after the
fact.  However,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  we  no longer
credit  such uh  legends; and  a young  woman attributing
her uh interesting condition to the attentions of  a suc-
cubus  would  be  accounted,  in these  enlightened days,
a  romanticist  or  in  plain English  a God  damned liar
hehe hehe heh...."

  And now The Prophet's Hour:
  "Millions died in the mud fiats. Only one blast free to
lungs.
  " 'Eye Eye, Captain,' he said, squirting his eyes out
on the deck.... And who would put on the chains to-
night? It is indicate to observe some caution in the
up-wind approach, the down wind having failed to turn
up  anything  worth  a rusty  load.... Senoritas  are the
wear this season in Hell, and  I am  tired with  the long
climb to a pulsing Vesuvius of alien pricks."
  Need Orient  Express out  of here  to no  hide place(r)
mines are frequent in the area.... Every day dig a little
it takes up the time....
  Jack off phantoms whisper hot into the bone ear....
  Shoot your way to freedom.
  "Christ?" sneers the vicious, fruity old Saint applying
pancake  from  an  alabaster  bowl....  "That  cheap ham!
You  think  I'd  demean  myself  to commit  a miracle?...
That one should have stood in carny....
  "'Step right up,  Marquesses and  Marks, and  bring the
little  Marks  too.  Good  for  young  and  old,  man and
beast.... The one  and only  legit Son  of Man  will cure
a  young boy's  clap with  one hand  -- by  contact alone,
folks -- create marijuana with  the other,  whilst walking
on  water  and squirting  wine out  his ass....  Now keep
your distance, folks, you is subject to be  irradiated by
the sheer charge of this character.'
  "And  I  knew  him  when,  dearie....  I recall  we was
doing an Impersonation  Act --  very high  class too  -- in
Sodom,  and  that  is  one  cheap town....  Strictly from
hunger...  Well,  this  citizen, this  fucking Philistine
wandered  in  from  Podunk  Baal  or  some  place, called
me a fuckin fruit right on the floor. And I said  to him:
'Three  thousand  years  in  show  business and  I always
keep my nose clean. Besides I don't  hafta take  any shit
off  any   uncircumcised  cocksucker.'...Later   he  come
to  my  dressing  room  and  made  an  apology....  Turns
out he is a big physician.  And he  was a  lovely fellah,
too....
  "Buddha? A notorious metabolic junky... Makes
his own you dig. In India, where they got no sense of
time, The Man is often a month late.... 'Now let me
see, is that the second or the third monsoon? I got like
a meet in Ketchupore about more or less.'
  "And all them junkies sitting around in the lotus
posture spitting on the ground and waiting on The Man.
  "So Buddha says: 'I don't hafta take this sound. I'll
by God metabolize my own junk.'
  "'Man, you can't do that. The Revenooers will swarm
all over you.'
  "'Over me they won't swarm. I gotta gimmick, see?
I'm a fuckin Holy Man as of right now.'
  "'Jeez, boss, what an angle.'
  "'Now some citizens really wig when they make with
the New Religion. These frantic individuals do not
know how to come on. No class to them... Besides,
they is subject to be lynched like who wants somebody
hanging around being better'n other folks? "What you
trying to do, Jack, give people a bad time?..." So we
gotta play it cool, you dig, cool.... We got a take it
or leave it proposition here, folks. We don't shove any-
thing up your soul, unlike certain cheap characters who
shall be nameless and are nowhere. Clear the cave for
action. I'm gonna metabolize a speed ball and make
with the Fire Sermon.'
  "Mohammed? Are you kidding? He was dreamed up
by the Mecca Chamber of Commerce. An Egyptian ad
man on the skids from the sauce write the continuity.
  " 'I'll have one more, Gus. Then, by Allah, I will go
home and receive a Surah.... Wait'll the morning edi-
tion hits the souks. I am blasting Amalgamated Images
wide open.'
  "The bartender looks up from his racing form. 'Yeah.
And theirs will be a painful doom.'
  " 'Oh... uh... quite. Now, Gus, I'll write you a
check.'
  "'You are only being the most notorious paper hanger
in Greater Mecca. I am not a wall, Mr. Mohammed.'
  " 'Well, Gus, I got like two types publicity, favorable
and otherwise. You want some otherwise already? I am
subject to receive a Surah concerning bartenders who
extendeth not credit to those in a needy way.'
  " 'And theirs will be a painful doom. Sold Arabia.' He
vaults over the bar. 'I'm not taking any more, Ahmed.
Pick up thy Surahs and walk. In fact, I'll help you. And
stay out.'
  "'I'll fix your wagon good, you unbelieving cock-
sucker. I'll close you up tight and dry as a junky's ass-
hole. I'll by Allah dry up the Peninsula.'
  " 'It's a continent already....'
  "Leave what Confucius say stand with Little Audrey
and the shaggy dogs. Lao-Tze? They scratch him al-
ready...'. And enough of these gooey saints with a look
of pathic dismay as if they getting fucked up the ass
and try not to pay it any mind. And why should we let
some old brokendown ham tell us what wisdom is?
'Three thousand years in show business and I always
keep my nose clean....'
  "First, every Fact is incarcerate along with the male
hustlers and those who desecrate the gods of commerce
by playing ball in the streets, and some old white-
haired fuck staggers out to give us the benefits of his
ripe idiocy. Are we never to be free of this grey-beard
loon lurking on every mountain top in Tibet, subject to
drag himself out of a hut in the Amazon, waylay one
in the Bowery? 'I've been expecting you, my son,' and
he make with a silo full of corn. 'Life is a school where
every pupil must learn a different lesson. And now I
will unlock my Word Hoard....'
  " 'I do fear it much.'
  " 'Nay, nothing shall stem the rising tide.'
  " 'I can't stem him, boys. Sauve qui peut.'
  " 'I tell you when I leave the Wise Man I don't even
feel like a human. He converting my live orgones into
dead bullshit.'
  "So I got an exclusive why don't I make with the live
word? The word cannot be expressed direct.... It can
perhaps be indicated by mosaic of juxtaposition like
articles abandoned in a hotel drawer, defined by nega-
tives and absence....
  "Think I'll have my stomach tucked.... I may be
old, but I'm still desirable."
  (The Stomach Tuck is surgical intervention to re-
move stomach fat at the same time making a tuck in the
abdominal wall, thus creating a flesh corset, which is,
however, subject to break and spurt your horrible old
guts across the Boor.... The slim and shapely F.C.
models are, of course, the most dangerous. In fact, some
extreme models are known as O.N.S.-- One Night Stands
-- in the industry.
  Doctor "Doodles" Rindfest states bluntly: "Bed is
the most dangerous place for an F.C. man."
  The F.C. theme song is "Believe Me If All These
Endearing  Young  Charms."  An  F.C.  partner  is indeed
subject to "fleet from your arms like fairy gifts fading
away.")

  In a  white museum  room full  of sunlight  pink nudes
sixty feet high. Vast adolescent muttering.
  Silver guard rail... chasm a  thousand feet  down into
the glittering sunlight. Little: green plots  of cabbage
and lettuce. Brown youths  with adzes  spied by  the old
queen across a sewage canal.
  "Oh dear, I wonder  if they  fertilize with  human ex-
crement.... Maybe they'll do it right now."
  He  Hips  out mother  of pearl  opera glasses  -- Aztec
mosaic in the sun.
  Long  line  of  Greek  lads  march  up  with alabaster
bowls of shit, empty into the limestone marl hole.
  Dusty  poplars  shake  across the  red brick  Plaza de
Toros in the afternoon wind.
  Wooden  cubicles  around  a  hot  spring...  rubble of
ruined walls in  a grove  of cottonwoods...  the benches
worn smooth as metal by a million masturbating boys.
  Greek  lads  white  as  marble fuck  dog style  on the
portico  of  a  great  golden  temple...  naked  Mugwump
twangs a lute.
  Walking  down  by the  tracks in  his red  sweater met
Sammy the Dock Keeper's son with two Mexicans.
  "Hey, Skinny," he said, "want to get screwed?"
  "Well... Yeah."
  On  a  ruined  straw mattress  the Mexican  pulled him
up on all fours --  Negro boy  dance around  them beating
out the strokes... sun  through a  knot hole  pink spot-
lights his cock.
  A  waste of  raw pink  shame to  the pastel  blue horizon
where vast iron mesas crash into the shattered sky,
  "It's  all  right."  The  God  screams through  you three
thousand year rusty load....
  Hail  of  crystal  skulls  shattered  the  greenhouse  to
slivers in the winter moon....
  The  American  woman  has  left  a  whiff  of  poison be-
hind in the dank St. Louis garden party.
  Pool  covered  with  green  slime  in  a   ruined  French
garden.  Huge  pathic  frog  rises  slowly  from  the water
on a mud platform playing the clavichord.
  A Sollubi rushes into  the bar  and starts  polishing The
Saint's shoes with the oil on his nose.... The  Saint kicks
him  petulantly   in  the   mouth.  The   Sollubi  screams,
whirls  around  and  shits  on the  Saint's pants.  Then he
dashes into  the street.  A pimp  looks after  him specula-
tively....
  The  Saint  calls  the  manager:  "Jesus, Al,  what kinda
creep  joint  you  running  here?  My  brand  new  fishskin
Degagees..."
  "I'm sorry, Saint. He slipped by me."
  (The  Sollubi are  an untouchable  caste in  Arabia noted
for  their  abject  vileness.  De  luxe cafes  are equipped
with  Sollubi who  rim the  guests while  they eat  -- holes
in  the seating  benches being  provided for  this purpose.
Citizens  who  want  to  be  utterly  humiliated   and  de-
graded  --  so  many  people  do,  nowadays, hoping  to jump
the  gun  --  over  themselves  up  for  passive  homosexual
intercourse  to  an  encampment  of   Sollubis....  Nothing
like it, they tell me.... In fact, the Sollubi  are subject
to  become  wealthy  and  arrogant  and  lose  their native
vileness. What is origin of  untouchable? Perhaps  a fallen
priest  caste.  In fact,  untouchables perform  a priestly
function  in  taking  on  themselves all  human vileness.)

  A. J. strolls through the Market in black cape with a
vulture perched on one shoulder. He stands by a table
of agents.
  "This you gotta hear. Boy in Los Angeles fifteen year
old. Father decide it is time the boy have his first piece
of ass. Boy is lying on the lawn reading comic books,
father go out and say: 'Son, here's twenty dollars; I
want you to go to a good whore and get a piece of ass
off her.'
  "So they drive to this plush jump joint, and the father
say, 'All right, son. You're on your own. So ring the bell
and when the woman come give her the twenty dollars
and tell her you want a piece of ass.'
  " 'Solid, pop.'
  "So about fifteen minutes later the boy comes out:
  " 'Well, son, did you get a piece of ass?'
  " 'Yeah. This gash comes to the door, and I say I want
a piece of ass and lay the double sawski on her. We go
up to her trap, and she remove the dry goods. So I
switch my blade and cut a big hunk off her ass, she raise
a beef like I am reduce to pull off one shoe and beat
her brains out. Then I hump her for kicks."
  Only the laughing bones remain, flesh over the hills
and far away with the dawn wind and a train whistle.
We are not unaware of the problem, and the needs of
our constituents are never out of our mind being their
place of residence and who can break a ninety-nine
year synapses lease?
  Another installment in the adventures of Clem Snide
the Private Ass Hole: "So I  walk in  the joint,  and this
female  hustler  sit  at  the  bar, and  I think,  'Oh God
you're poule de luxe already.' I mean it's like I  see the
gash before. So I  don't pay  her no  mind at  first, then
I dig she  is rubbing  her legs  together and  working her
feet up behind  her head  shoves it  down to  give herself
a douche  job with  a gadget  sticks out  of her  nose the
way a body can't help but notice."
  Iris -- half Chinese and half Negro  -- addicted  to dihy-
dro-oxy-heroin  -- takes  a shot  every fifteen  minutes to
which  end she  leaves droppers  and needles  sticking out
all over her.  The needles  rust in  her dry  flesh, which,
here  and  there,  has  grown completely  over a  joint to
form  a  smooth  green brown  wen. On  the table  in front
of  her  is  a samovar  of tea  and a  twenty-pound hamper
of  brown sugar.  No one  has ever  seen her  eat anything
else. It -is only just before a shot  that she  hears what
anyone says or talks  herself. Then  she makes  some flat,
factual statement relative to her own person.
  "My asshole is occluding."
  "My cunt got terrible green juices."
  Iris  is  one  of  Benway's  projects.  "The  human body
can  run  on  sugar  alone,  God  damn  it.... I  am aware
that certain of  my learned  colleagues, who  are attempt-
ing to belittle my genius work, claim that I  put vitamins
and proteins into Iris's  sugar clandestinely....  I chal-
lenge these  nameless assholes  to crawl  up out  of their
latrines and run a spot analysis on  Iris's sugar  and her
tea. Iris is a wholesome American  cunt. I  deny categori-
cally  that  she nourishes  herself on  semen. And  let me
take this opportunity to state that I am a  reputable sci-
entist, not a charlatan, a lunatic, or a  pretended worker
of miracles.... I never claimed  that Iris  could subsist
exclusive on photosynthesis.... I did  not say  she could
breathe in carbon dioxide and  give off  oxygen --  I con-
fess I have been  tempted to  experiment being  of course
restrained by my  medical ethics....  In short,  the vile
slanders of  my creeping  opponents will  inevitably fall
back  onto them  and come  to roost  like a  homing stool
pigeon."

        ORDINARY MEN AND WOMEN

  Luncheon  of  Nationalist  Party  on  balcony overlook-
ing the  Market. Cigars,  scotch, polite  belches.... The
Party Leader strides about in a  jellaba smoking  a cigar
and drinking  scotch. He  wears expensive  English shoes,
loud socks, garters, muscular, hairy legs -- overall effect
of successful gangster in drag.
  P.L.  (pointing  dramatically):  "Look out  there. What
do you see?"
  LIEUTENANT: "Huh? Why, I see the Market."
  P.L.:  "No  you  don't.  You see  men and  women. Ordi-
ruzry  men and  women going  about their  ordinary every-
day tasks. Leading their ordinary  lives. That's  what we
need...."
  A street boy climbs over the balcony rail.
  Lieutenant:  "No,  we  do  not  want  to  buy  any  used
condoms! Cut!"
  P.L.:  "Wait!...  Come  in, my  boy. Sit  down.... Have
a cigar.... Have a drink."
  He paces around the boy like an aroused tom cat.
  "What do you think about the French?"
  -Huh?"
  'The  French.  The  Colonial  bastards  who  is  sucking
your live corpuscles."
  "Look  mister.  It cost  two hundred  francs to  suck my
corpuscule.  Haven't  lowered  my  rates  since  the  year
of  the  rindpest  when  all the  tourists died,  even the
Scandinavians."
  P.L.: "You see? This is pure uncut boy in the street."
  "You sure can pick'em, boss."
  "M.I. never misses."
  P.L.: "Now look, kid, let's put it this way.  The French
have dispossessed you of your birthright."
  "You  mean  like  Friendly  Finance?...  They  got  this
toothless  Egyptian eunuch  does the  job. They  figure he
arouse  less  antagonism,  you  dig,  he always  take down
his  pants  to  show you  his condition.  'Now I'm  just a
poor  old eunuch  trying to  keep up  my habit.  Lady, I'd
like to give you an extension on that artificial  kidney, I
got  a  job  to do  is all....  Disconnect her,  boys.' He
shows  his  gums in  a feeble  snarl.... 'Not  for nothing
am I known as Nellie the Repossessor.'
  "So  they  disconnect  my  own  mother, the  sainted old
gash,  and  she  swell  up  and turn  black and  the whole
souk stink of  piss and  the neighbors  beef to  the Board
of Health and my father say: 'It's the will of  Allah. She
won't piss any more of my loot down the drain.'
  "Sick  people  disgust  me  already.  When  some citizen
start telling me about his cancer of  the prostate  or his
rotting  septum  make  with  that  purulent   discharge  I
tell him: 'You think I  am innarested  to hear  about your
horrible old condition? I am not innarested at all.' "
   P.L.: "All right. Cut... You  hate the  French, don't
you?"
   "Mister, I  hate everybody.  Doctor Benway  says it's
metabolic, I got this condition  of the  blood.... Arabs
and  Americans  got  it  special....  Doctor  Benway  is
concocting this serum."
   P.L.: "Benway is an infiltrating Western Agent."
   L.l: "A rampant French Jew..."
   L.2:  "A hog-balled,  black-assed Communist  Jew Nig-
ger.
   P.L.: "Shut up, you fool!"
   L.2:  "Sorry, chief.  I am  after being  stationed in
Pigeonhole."
   P.L.: "Don't go  near Benway."  (Aside: "I  wonder if
this will  go down.  You never  know how  primitive they
are....") "Confidentially he's a black magician."
   L.l: "He's got this resident djinn."
   "Uhuh... Well I got  a date  with a  high-type Ameri-
can client. A real classy fellah."
   P.L.: "Don't you  know it's  shameful to  peddle your
ass to the alien unbelieving pricks?"
   "Well that's a point of view. Have fun."
   P.L.: "Likewise." Exit boy. "They're hopeless  I tell
you. Hopeless."
   L.l. "What's with this serum?"
   P.L.: "I don't know, but it sounds ominous. We better
put a telepathic  direction finder  on Benway.  The man's
not  to be  trusted. Might  do almost  anything.... Turn
a massacre into a sex orgy....
   "Or a joke."
   "Precisely. Arty type... No principles..."
  AMERICAN  HOUSEWIFE  (opening  a   box  of   Lux):  "Why
don't it have an  electric eye  the box  Hip open  when it
see  me  and  hand  itself  to  the  Automat Handy  Man he
should  put  it  inna  water  already....  The  Handy  Man
is outa control since Thursday,  he been  getting physical
with me and I didn't put it in his combination  at all....
And  the  Garbage  Disposal  Unit  snapping  at   me,  and
the  nasty  old  Mixmaster  keep  trying  to get  up under
my  dress.... I  got the  most awful  cold, and  my intes-
tines  is  all  constipated....  I'm gonna  put it  in the
Handy  Man's  combination  he   sh